


we kiss better (in darkness)

by LizMikaelson, saltziepark



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Friends With Benefits, also they're like way over 18 for consent and sexy times purposes, and clearly like italian food, and i delivered in the form of another hiking scene, but is that really what they are anymore, have we said pizzie endgame yet because PIZZIE ENDGAME, hosie if you squint, hosie wedding but pizzie is the real focus here, how many times can i make a food restaurant name pun?, i can make more, i have been counseled that this fic may make you feel things, is all i'm saying, is enemies with benefits a thing?, it's totally a date lizzie is just dense, its how she flirts, lizzie's love affair with food in this fic is inspired only because im always hungry, much to liz's chagrin, penelope and lizzie planning a wedding, penelope drill sergeant park likes to take girls on miles long hikes, penelope farmers market park, post salvatore school, rivals maybe?, then she makes them food, they may or may not be going on a date, this got way deeper than we intended but it’s also kind of a beautiful story, this totally totally totally has a plot, what can go wrong?, yall asked for a penelope pov, you just have to sift through some smut for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark
Summary: Penelope and Lizzie have been casually sleeping together for years, sneaking glances between meals with Hope and Josie and meeting up later. But as Lizzie's twenty-second birthday and the promise of a wedding to plan draws closer, she realizes a few things. One: she might actually die in the merge, even though Hope found a loophole years ago. And two: Penelope Park is the closest thing she has to a friend. Or maybe she's something more.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson & Josie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman, Penelope Park & Lizzie Saltzman, Penelope Park/Lizzie Saltzman, background Hosie
Comments: 92
Kudos: 299





	1. Chapter 1

"So you had a good day?” 

“You’re actually asking how my day went while your fingers are inside of me?” Penelope groans out, head slamming back against the pillow, her hair splayed around her. Her chest was slick with sweat, bite marks on her neck and breasts. She and Lizzie had been at it for hours, barely speaking in complete sentences. Until now. 

Lizzie looks up at her then, mouth dripping, and shit, maybe it was a bad idea to ask Penelope that. Penelope's hand caresses Lizzie’s cheek then and it's almost gentle, but they had never been gentle with each other before. There was no need to start now, even if the touch sent sparks up and down Lizzie's body.

“I take it back,” Lizzie says with a shrug, biting at the juncture of Penelope’s thigh and her groin. 

Penelope's hips cant upward at the sensation, a growl escaping her lips. She digs her nails into Lizzie’s scalp at the feeling, pushing the blonde’s face where she needed it to be. Where it had been, seconds ago, before Lizzie felt like getting chatty while she was eating Penelope out.

“We’ve been doing this for years, Lizzie — _fuck, yes_ — ever since the night of graduation,” Penelope spreads her legs open wider where Lizzie lays between them. “You’re never nice or curious about my day.” 

“Maybe — maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” Lizzie finishes her statement with a long lick through Penelope’s center, her free hand grabbing and tugging at one of Penelope’s breasts and god, _did_ Lizzie really want to have this conversation now? She did, actually, even if she had been _fine_ ignoring things for years. 

“I think you’re scared,” Penelope observes, her voice low and raspy, as Lizzie plunges her fingers in and out, to prove a point. To prove that Penelope hadn’t just hit a nerve. To prove she was unaffected.

“Me? Scared? Never,” Lizzie breathes, her breath warm on Penelope’s clit. She tries to settle her nerves, tries to be more in the moment because not only was she face-deep in Penelope, her tongue doing absolutely sinful things, but she knew that if she licked in just the right spot, she could easily distract Penelope. 

“Fuck, Lizzie. Okay — okay,” Penelope chants, her voice shaking, as if she was struggling to remember to think, “you’re not scared, but maybe you’re just — I don’t know — anxious or whatever — because even though Hope solved the Merge and saved you both — _God, yes, keep doing that_ — even though she solved the Merge — your — fuck — your birthday is coming up.” Penelope moans loudly, her knuckles turning white as she grabs at the crumpled sheets in her free hand, her other hand lost in Lizzie’s blonde locks, tugging her mouth closer, impossibly closer to her clit. 

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop —” Penelope’s eyes close as Lizzie speeds up everything — her tongue, her fingers. Penelope had definitely hit a nerve. This was just payback.

Lizzie swipes her tongue and curls her fingers and she can feel that Penelope is close, so damn close, a litany of curses breaking her through her lips. She had always liked it when Penelope talked dirty, but she was hoping that she was doing enough to push Penelope over the edge to where she couldn’t form sentences any longer, her vocabulary devolving to words like _fuck, shit, babe, yes yes yes yes,_ and that might be even better. Lizzie licks, bites and sucks between her legs and she feels Penelope’s thighs quiver and shake, as she grinds wantonly into Lizzie’s mouth. Her back arches and her head presses against the pillow as she moans out Lizzie’s name as the orgasm crashes through her.

She recovers slowly, and Lizzie crawls back up her body. “That was —”

Lizzie silences Penelope with a kiss that steals her own breath away. Penelope’s heart rate is still rapid and Lizzie lays more fully on her now, draping her with her warmth as their chests meet, their breasts rubbing against each other, Lizzie’s arms around her neck, scratching at her nape. Lizzie knew she was wet, knew Penelope could feel how wet she was between her legs, and then Penelope moans into the kiss, opening her mouth wide for Lizzie to lick inside. 

Lizzie kisses like she has something to prove and maybe she does. Maybe Penelope wasn’t as perceptive as she thought she was (she totally was, Lizzie was just being stubborn). Maybe Lizzie was regretting opening her mouth to do something other than going down on Penelope. 

“Maybe —” Lizzie breathes out, ten minutes later, Penelope’s mouth at her chest, sucking on her nipples until they were hard and aching, gasps coming from Lizzie’s lips. Her fingers draw patterns between Lizzie’s legs, teasing. “Maybe I’m slightly anxious.” 

Penelope pauses, running a hand through her hair as she settles herself on Lizzie’s chest, idly playing with her nipple between her thumb and forefinger as her other hand traces circles over Lizzie’s clit that has the siphon seeing stars. “Shall I stop?” 

“No, I need — Jesus, I need — the distraction of your fingers to, to actually get the words out,” Lizzie admits, showing her cards far too much to Penelope because they never talked like this. Not once in four years. It had always been stolen glances when they were out with the happy couple, feigning annoyance at each other and then fucking in public restrooms between courses or late-night booty calls when Lizzie would show up at Penelope’s place, leaning against her doorframe with a bottle of whiskey and a smile that promised absolute sin and debauchery. Oftentimes it was Penelope showing up at her place, her hair falling around her shoulder in waves and a look on her face that screamed hunger and desire and bad choices. 

But they never — no, they were never open and honest with each other about anything. That wasn’t what this was all about. 

“Mmm, now that I can do,” Penelope smirks, and Lizzie knows she’s trying to add levity to the situation in an effort to make her more comfortable. Lizzie almost thanks Penelope for it, but then the witch moves her head upward, kissing at Lizzie’s neck and jawline as two fingers push into the blonde, who gasps her name, her body arching closer. 

“Fuck, yes, oh, keep doing that,” Lizzie breathes, Penelope nosing and kissing at her jaw with languid, open-mouthed kisses. Lizzie spreads her legs wider as Penelope’s thumb circles her clit. Lizzie’s moans chorus in Penelope’s ears, her breath hot.

She grinds into the press of Penelope’s fingers, slow and deep and Penelope stays silent, as if waiting for Lizzie to explain more when she’s ready. 

“I just — what if it still happens? If something forces it to happen — fuck, you feel so good — and we have to go through this all over again? What would Hope say or do? God, I’m so close, don't you dare stop. Okay, she already saved us once and I don’t — I don’t want to die, Penelope. I would — for Josie. I just would prefer to know— harder — _oh my god, yes_ — I just wanna know if I’m gonna wake up dead in a week or not.”

Penelope curls her fingers, slowly pressing inside of Lizzie. She lifts her head and Lizzie’s pupils are blown, watching her. “Just say you want me around for your birthday, Lizzie,” she replies as if it’s the easiest statement to make. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Lizzie’s hands slide down her back, her hips grinding down against Penelope’s fingers, “if you were around."

“You’re such a romantic,” Penelope teases, “are you going to ask me to be your date for the wedding next?”

“Like I’ll have time for a date,” Lizzie groans, “now shut up and fuck me.” Penelope chuckles, and Lizzie knew that by now, she was far too used to being bossed around by Lizzie in bed (even though she took almost as good as she gave). 

Fingers tangle in her hair and Penelope leans down, placing her mouth on Lizzie’s in a bruising kiss as she moves against her. Lizzie breathes her in as she presses their foreheads together, the intimacy of the moment almost knocking the wind out of her lungs. Penelope might feel it too, as she breaks the kiss and forces her gaze downward. Lizzie's absolutely dripping, soaked under Penelope's hands, and her hips are canting up and down and they really could break the bed this time. It’s not like they haven’t before. 

“Are you going to come?” Penelope asks, her chest heaving, a smirk on her face. 

“Ye — yeah,” Lizzie exhales, whimpers, moans. 

“Tell me. I want to hear you,” Penelope tries to coax out and Lizzie just rolls her eyes, shaking her head as Penelope fucks her deeper. Lizzie knew Penelope could always tell when she was getting closer, the familiar red blush creeping over her chest, her moans becoming more broken, louder. 

“You’re an asshole,” Lizzie settles on, her hands moving down to Penelope’s shoulders tightening and scratching lines down her back. She changes her mind, though, grabbing the back of Penelope’s neck to pull her in for another kiss and Penelope swallows her moans, swallows the high-pitched exhale as Lizzie finally comes, shuddering gasps flying out of her throat and into Penelope's mouth.

“God, you’re so sexy when you come,” Penelope observes, her kisses moving from Lizzie’s lips to her chin and neck as Lizzie comes down from her high, her body boneless under Penelope’s. 

“A compliment? Who are you and what have you done with Penelope Park?” Lizzie laughs, shoving the brunette off of her. Penelope flops down next to Lizzie on her side, propping her head in her hand, glancing at her nails with a smug expression as she licks her fingers. 

Penelope's never one to linger and she’s gotten good at the disappearing act over the years. But there must be something about the way Lizzie is looking at her, far too open, that makes Penelope settle into the bed next to her. 

“So, did you want to actually hear about my day or not?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Happy Birthday,” Penelope says, pressing a kiss to Lizzie’s cheek. She lingers, her lips warm against Lizzie’s face, her grip at Lizzie’s waist, and Lizzie feels her heart skip a beat. “That dress would look much better on my bedroom floor.”

No one is quite close enough to hear, but Lizzie looks around just to make sure. “That’s a horrible pick up line,” she decrees. 

“I’ll make sure to wipe it from your mind later when your dress is actually on my floor. Or your’s.”

“Please stop,” Lizzie sighs. She’s not grinning. Penelope kind of makes her mad. And turned on. It’s not the worst combination, but it’s definitely not what she needs at a party hosted by Caroline at the Forbes family house. 

“You wanted me to be here,” Penelope points out. 

“You can’t prove that.”

Hope clears her throat from several steps away, a maroon dress on her body. Stupid wolf hearing. “Are you guys coming or should I leave you to your bitchy banter?”

“You want me to tell them, or would you like the honors?” Penelope bows at that statement, her heels making her taller, but not tall enough for Lizzie Saltzman in stilettos. An angry Lizzie Saltzman in stilettos who had a finger currently jabbing into Penelope’s chest with one hand, the other gripping her wrist. 

“You’re on thin ice, Park,” she seethes through clenched teeth. Penelope smirks, her eyes coming up to Lizzie’s nose. They’re alone, for the most part, so no one sees when she slips her hand into Lizzie’s for a brief moment. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” she promises under her breath, and it comes out low and raspy and does things to Lizzie’s stomach, heat swooping low in her core. 

Penelope leads her inside Caroline’s house and it’s almost nice, Lizzie thinks, in a very weird sort of way she won’t ponder for another second. The touch at the small of her back where her dress is open, exposing lines of skin doesn’t go unnoticed. And Penelope even gives her a tumbler filled to the brim with clear alcohol, a lime wedge as garnish. 

“You know me too well,” Lizzie remarks, downing half of the drink in one go. “Let’s just get this over with,” she says under her breath. 

Penelope moves away from Lizzie, kissing Josie on the cheek with a _happy birthday, Jojo_ and Lizzie watches the interaction. She isn’t jealous about seeing the pair interact. Never has been. Hope and Josie have been together for longer than she and Penelope have been doing whatever the hell is that they’ve been doing. Hope and Josie are basically married without the ring or the title, although Lizzie knew that Josie was itching, waiting for the right moment to pop the question. 

Maybe their twenty-second birthday was hanging over her head too, looming like a guillotine ready to strike them down. She had never asked Josie about it. 

Maybe Josie was afraid Hope wouldn’t say yes. Which was stupid. Hope would have said yes years ago when they were teenagers. It was written on her face every time she looked at Josie. 

Lizzie can’t help but watch Penelope and Josie together though, the synchronicity in the way that Penelope makes a joke and Josie throws her head back in laughter burning in her stomach. Or maybe it was the fact that she had just downed the rest of her drink, the vodka tingling in her throat. 

“You’re staring,” Hope says, appearing at her side. Stupid wolf stealth. 

“Am not,” Lizzie replies airly, turning on her heel to the bar and pouring a healthy three fingers of vodka and very little soda water into her empty glass. She doesn’t bother with a new lime. 

“Are so,” Hope says, hiding a smirk behind a sip of her wine and Lizzie turns back to her. 

“I’m just keeping an eye out for you,” Lizzie lies, glancing over at Hope who doesn’t seem to buy it for a second. 

“I trust Josie,” Hope says in a tone that Lizzie knows means she’s serious. 

“Do you trust Penelope?” comes Lizzie’s response. 

“Do you?” 

“What does it matter what I think?” Lizzie snipes back, and Hope shakes her head. Lizzie feels like she wants to be honest for once, and she blames it on the alcohol and the nostalgia and her stupid birthday and stupid feelings. 

“Fine,” she groans. “Be like that. And yes, I trust Penelope.” Stupid Hope and her stupid all-knowingness. It’s annoying. 

The night passes without much drama, even with the nervous anticipation lingering over all of them. This birthday was always going to be a lot. 

Caroline makes a speech, Alaric knows better than to show his face, and while the cake is passed out, Lizzie ducks outside to smoke a cigarette and down an old-fashioned. She’s bordering on drunk, she’s alone, but she’s alive. 

Penelope finds her on the back porch, listening to the cicadas as the smoke drifts up from her second cigarette. The first one hadn't lasted as long as she would have liked and she needed just a bit more time alone before heading back inside to hear more from her mom’s friends about her and Josie as kids. She knew how they were as kids. She didn’t need the trip down memory lane. 

“You’re sulking,” says a voice, the door slamming behind her as Penelope joins her, leaning against the opposite column, face nearly hidden in darkness. It’s easier, this way. Lizzie doesn’t have to see Penelope’s expression. Doesn’t have to read into the mask she knows is firmly in place. Doesn’t have to second-guess every interaction and wonder if it’s the _real_ Penelope she’s seeing or a facsimile. 

Because she knows she’s seen the real her, somewhere underneath all of the bravado. She’s seen it in smiles in dark rooms, seconds before and after a stolen kiss. She’s seen it in touches that linger and kisses that should burn but only take her breath away. 

“I’m not sulking,” Lizzie says, an edge to her voice that could only be drawn out by Penelope. It wasn’t real though. It was her version of a mask, carefully cultivated after years. 

“You’re definitely something, Saltzman,” Penelope argues, sitting down. Lizzie takes a moment to admire Penelope’s dress (not that she hadn’t been watching her all night long). It was the color of ivory with a subtle shimmer, the halter plunging a dangerous v down her chest that Lizzie’s eyes had been drawn to from the moment she saw Penelope that evening. The slit up to her hip wasn’t helping Lizzie’s fragile sense of self control. She had traced that line with her tongue more times than she could count and not being able to do that very thing right now was torture. 

“I think I just needed time away from you,” Lizzie lobs at Penelope, but it falls flat. She was losing her touch. 

“Oh, you wound me, Saltzman,” Penelope jokes, stealing the cigarette from Lizzie and taking a long drag. “Your mom keeps asking me if you’re dating anyone. She thinks since you and I are friends —”

“We aren’t friends, Penelope,” Lizzie steals back the cigarette with her statement. Something flashes across Penelope’s face but it’s gone in an instant. 

“We kind of are,” Penelope argues back, “you did invite me to your birthday. I mean, apart from Hope and Josie, who doesn’t count because she’s your sister, I kinda think I’m your only friend.” 

“You’re delusional. And drunk. You should go.” 

“And leave you to fend for yourself? Not on your life.” 

“You’re the bane of my existence.” 

“Right back at ya, babe,” Penelope snatches the cigarette from Lizzie one more time, inhaling deeply and tossing the butt away before she holds a hand out to Lizzie. “Come on, I want more drinks as reward for listening to Josie drone on and on and on about the weekend trip she took with Hope to Harper’s Ferry. They made wine tasting sound boring. Wine tasting!”

Lizzie’s laugh echoes into the evening, and as she stands, grabbing Penelope’s hand, the witch pulls her more fully into her. “You really do look beautiful, Lizzie.” Penelope’s eyes sparkle in the dim light from the porch and Lizzie wants to say something, anything, because it's Penelope that looks beautiful, ethereal even. Her hair shines from the light and the oranges and golds in her eyes dance to the surface. 

The words settle low in Lizzie’s core, leaving her utterly distracted throughout the party, even as they return inside, even as the big clock in her mom’s living room rings midnight and everybody cheers. 

“Well,” Penelope says, glancing at her phone, vodka swapped for champagne as she twirls the empty flute in the air, “it’s officially midnight. Which means it’s no longer your birthday and you’re still alive. I think we could call that a win.” 

Lizzie’s watching her, the alcohol that she’s been drinking all night making Penelope’s soft edges blur. Her smile is softer, her gaze is a bit hazy, and she’s nearly leaning into Lizzie in a way that isn’t anywhere near how they normally act with each other in public. It’s too much and not enough and Lizzie can smell the perfume and the cigarette from earlier clinging to Penelope’s skin. 

It’s a good thing that Caroline is busy in the kitchen with Hope and Josie. Because Lizzie turns to Penelope, her voice raw and laced with emotions she shouldn’t, couldn’t have when it comes to Penelope Park. She’s been ignoring any random _feelings_ just fine for years by now. 

“Wanna come back to my place?” 

“I thought you’d never ask, Saltzman.”

It’s another hour of celebrations until they manage to make their escape. It was definitely worth the wait, Lizzie decides when Penelope has her pressed up against the door, her hands making quick work of Lizzie’s dress. Each touch sends shivers up her spine and Lizzie feels her heart drumming in her chest, blood coursing through her veins telling her that she’s alive, alive, alive under Penelope’s hands.

* * *

Sunlight streams through her window and Lizzie moves her hand, clutching warm skin, and a nipple? Yeah, that’s definitely a breast. Penelope’s breast.

Fuck, Penelope slept over. How drunk had they been? Fuck, what time is it? 

And who the _fuck_ is knocking so damn early? 

“Make them go. _Ignalusa_ them or something,” Penelope groans into the air, an arm thrown over her eyes to block out the light. The knocking stops, thank fucking God. But then Lizzie hears a key turn in the lock, her blood turning to ice water, and she shoves Penelope out of her bed. The witch falls to the floor, curses on her lips that Lizzie shushes, nearly kissing Penelope to quiet her, before grabbing Penelope’s dress from the night before and shoving the girl into her closet. 

“Not a word, Park,” Lizzie breathes, pulling a shirt (one of Penelope’s that she had stolen a month ago) over her head before she slams the door to her bedroom. 

Penelope exits the closet slowly, still clutching her dress and underwear in a ball, her heels nowhere to be found. She hears Lizzie greet Josie, far too cheerful for nine in the morning the night after their party. She had forgotten that about Josie — her inability to sleep in _ever_. Preferred the Saltzman that liked to stay up late, watching the sunrise. 

Penelope opens the door a crack to listen. 

“It’s nine a.m., Jo. Some of us like to sleep in,” Lizzie says, yawning dramatically, fluffing her hair. 

“Hope proposed. After we got back home,” is all Josie says and Penelope could hear a pin drop. 

“Wait, is someone here with you?” Josie asks her before Lizzie can even think to respond with a congratulations. 

“No, why?” 

“Those aren’t your shoes,” Josie says slowly, and Penelope whispers _fuck_ under her breath because she might have kicked her heels off after she had backed Lizzie up against her front door the moment they had stepped inside the night before. 

“Yes, they are, Jo. So, are you gonna ask me, then?” 

“Ask you?” Josie questions, momentarily distracted. 

“To be your maid of honor, obviously.”

“I was actually going to ask you who gave you the hickies.” 

“She didn’t — I don’t have any hickies,” Lizzie pads to the mirror in the hallway that may or may not be hanging askew from Penelope shoving her into the wall in their haste to get to the bedroom last night. 

“But you did have someone sleep over. Someone who forgot _her_ shoes,” Josie observes, triumph written across her face. Fuck, it was too early for this. 

“I might have picked her up at a bar after the party,” Lizzie lies quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“So, this is a thing now? You and women?” 

“I think the term the kids are using these days is bisexual, Josette. Ask your fiancée. Is she your fiancée? You haven’t even told me if you said yes yet.” It’s a bad attempt at distracting her sister, but it’s the best she’s got.

“Of course I said yes,” Josie shoots back. “You haven’t dated anyone since school though, Lizzie. Male, female, or otherwise.”

“Dating and sleeping with are two different things, thank you. And just because I don’t parade who I’m sleeping with around you,” Lizzie pauses, biting her lip. “Look, Jo — we really don’t have to do this right now,” Lizzie glances back at her bedroom door before turning back to Josie. “You know how happy for you I am. You and Hope have been — it’s about fucking time,” she laughs and it isn’t bitter when it escapes her throat. “Come on, I’ll go take a shower and we’ll get breakfast and you can tell me exactly what she said and how she did it. Wanna meet me at Lou’s in — hmm, half an hour?” Lizzie glances at the clock on the microwave and Josie’s face lights up as she agrees. 

She looks down at the heels once more with a pointed expression on her face before leaving and Lizzie sighs as she pushes open her bedroom door. Penelope sits, still very much naked on her bed, which Lizzie notes is actually made, the pillows piled just the way she likes them. 

“Did I hear that we have half an hour?” Penelope asks, leaning back on her arms, her legs crossed in front of her. Lizzie just stares at her, eyes narrowed and mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re a liability,” she observes, taking a step closer to Penelope. 

“A fun liability.” 

“We should stop,” Lizzie says, taking another step closer to Penelope, her legs bracketing Penelope’s as she perches on the edge of Lizzie’s bed. 

“Okay,” Penelope replies, sitting up straighter, hands reaching out to grab at Lizzie’s hips, fingers grazing over her backside. Her very bare backside. “Before or after I make you come in the shower?” She pushes Lizzie’s shirt higher on her waist (her shirt, she realizes) kissing at Lizzie’s stomach. The blonde winds her hands through Penelope’s hair, clutching at Penelope’s back with a gasp. Thank god she had grown it out again after Josie’s stupid hex during school. There was something about running her hands through Penelope’s curls that just _did_ something for her. 

“After, you idiot,” she’s barely able to make out as Penelope circles her nipple with her tongue, falling backward as Lizzie falls on top of her.

They won’t stop. They both know that. They should, maybe. They’ve said so dozens of times. But it would be just stupid to give up on great sex with someone she dislikes just the right amount and have to go pick people up in bars.

She doesn’t even like bars.

Penelope makes her come twice before they use up all of the hot water and she’s five minutes late by the time she’s rushing out the door. She presses a hurried kiss to Penelope’s lips. “Can you lock up when you leave?” she asks, and Penelope nods and Lizzie leaves and doesn’t realize how stupidly _domestic_ that was until she’s halfway down the stairs.

She can’t focus on that now, anyway. She has a sister to distract and a wedding to plan.


	3. Chapter 3

“Josie says that I need to check with you before I make Penelope my maid of honor,” Hope’s voice rings through the phone. “Just in case you’ve suddenly gone back to high school and would be uncomfortable spending large amounts of time with her.”

Hope’s voice is dripping with thinly-veiled sarcasm. Lizzie kind of hates her for it. Kind of hates the fact that Hope was so prescient at the twin’s birthday. Kind of hates herself for revealing far too much about Penelope. If Hope and Josie ever got their heads out of their asses for long enough, they would be able to put the pieces together rather simply. She has no idea what Hope has already put together and she doesn’t really want to know.

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Hope.”

Hope tsks at her disapprovingly. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation here, Liz. Do you mind Penelope being my maid of honor? You might have to spend time with her.”

“I don’t mind,” Lizzie says, poison in her tone and she can basically hear Hope grinning through the phone. 

“I had a feeling that was going to be your response. A little birdie told me that you had an overnight guest after your party —” 

“Goodbye, Hope! Some of us have lives to get back to!” Lizzie yells into the phone, ending the call and slamming the device down on her kitchen table. 

“What was that all about?” M.G. asks from the kitchen, a towel over his shoulder as he cooked, the smell of lobster risotto wafting all around them.

Lizzie takes a sip of her white wine before answering, savoring the notes of apple and peach as M.G. turns to her, his back against the stove. Her friendship with M.G. had always been a constant, borne out of the trials of their teenage years. He was the constant, really. Unwavering in his loyalty, whereas Lizzie knew she was flighty. Knew she had commitment issues, even with friends. She called it her fear of losing everything, of alienating everyone, of being too broken and damaged to have real friends (other than Josie), but M.G. could always somehow see through that. He was always steadfast and sure. An anchor when Lizzie needed him. 

Kym had kindly given him up for the night when Lizzie had complained to him that it had been _far too long, Milton_ , but really, she just needed some company.

The news of Hope and Josie’s engagement, while not shocking in the least, still settled in Lizzie’s chest like a dormant bomb, waiting to go off. It was a reminder that she was alone, she hadn’t found her person (she hadn’t been looking, to be honest), and that Hope and Josie had their forever wrapped up in a neat, perfect bow. 

It’s not even the forever she wants. Josie has always been the one for fairy tales. Lizzie’s fine. Mostly. 

“Hope’s gonna ask Penelope to be her maid of honor,” Lizzie says shortly and M.G. just nods sagely, grabbing his beer before turning back to give the risotto a stir as it simmered. 

“Aren’t y’all over your petty squabbles from when we were younger? Everyone knew they were all for Josie’s benefit anyway,” he says. When the fuck did everyone around here get so emotionally mature?

“She’s definitely still annoying,” Lizzie says, which isn’t a total lie. Penelope annoys her all the time. For instance, she’s a horrible tease. Which is probably not the kind of annoying M.G. meant — but still. “At least she’ll be more helpful than Josie or Hope when it comes to planning a wedding, though.”

“It’s their wedding, Lizzie,” M.G. reminds her. 

Lizzie takes a hearty sip of her wine. “And they’ve had some great ideas. Going down to the courthouse, a casual dress code, and e-vites.” Lizzie shudders, as if the thought of the more eco-friendly option was an affront to her. It was. 

He chuckles. “Well, at least you’ll have Penelope on your side in shooting all of that down.”

“And thank God for me, honestly. If they had their way, it would be in the back of a barn like some of the idiots around here have done. No sister of mine is getting married near a stable.” 

“Thank God for you,” he agrees, placing a platter of delicious smelling risotto down on the table. “I’d hate to have to attend a wedding that’s anything less than _impeccable_.” 

“You’ll be thanking me, Milton. And you won’t have straw stuck to your ass and petting zoo animals running amok when you’re trying to tear up the dancefloor.” M.G. laughs as he joins Lizzie, holding up his beer bottle in a mock toast.

“To impeccable weddings with Penelope Park by your side.” 

“I will not be cheers-ing to that,” Lizzie says seriously, but the smile on M.G. 's face is infectious and she can’t help but think of a world in which Penelope Park is actually by her side as she clinks her wineglass to his bottle. 

Which isn’t this world. In this world, she has dinner with M.G. and tries not to think too much about it when he asks her what her plans are, for _now._ She can hear the after in his tone, and she knows that the sword looming over their heads has disappeared, but she doesn’t know how to explain that she has no idea what she wants that to mean. 

Penelope shows up on her doorstep after midnight. Lizzie takes one look at her ripped jeans and leather jacket and the bottle of whiskey dangling in front of her face. Lizzie, dressed in leggings and an oversized red cable-knit sweater pulls her by the lapels of her jacket inside, slamming the door closed and shoving her up against it. 

“Hi,” Penelope breathes into her mouth between kisses. She tastes like she’s already been drinking and her voice is hoarse as if she’s smoked too many cigarettes but Lizzie wants to inhale her scent. She smells like lavender and rose and hints of vanilla. 

It’s intoxicating. 

Lizzie steals the bottle of whiskey, drinking several gulps before placing it down on the table in the entryway, busying herself with getting Penelope out of that stupid leather jacket. Of course, it would be nearly skin-tight. The leather catches when Lizzie tries to shove the jacket down Penelope’s arms and she growls, actually growls, biting at the juncture of Penelope’s jaw.

Penelope can do nothing but stand there, arms pinned at her sides as Lizzie tugs on the jacket. She trails kisses from Penelope’s jawline to her neck, as Penelope, arms finally free, palms at Lizzie’s hips, thumbs grabbing at her exposed skin underneath her sweater. Lizzie lets out a sigh, more like a moan, as her other free hand skates to the back of Penelope’s head, running her fingers through her hair, scraping lightly at her scalp.

Penelope’s wearing a lace crop top underneath, tightly fitted to show every curve, and Lizzie exhales sharply, her hands migrating downward, blunt nails scratching over the thin fabric. Penelope whines against her lips, “come on, Saltzman,” and the sound has heat curling low in Lizzie’s stomach. 

Penelope’s always a little louder, more demanding, more wanton when she’s drunk and Lizzie loves it. Loves the way Penelope grinds against her when Lizzie pushes her thigh between her legs, her head falling back against the door. 

“Come on what, Park?” she asks, gasping into Penelope’s hands as the witch palms at her breasts underneath the sweater because of course Lizzie wasn’t wearing a bra. She was home for the night, nearly ready for bed and it just so happened that Penelope had stumbled over to her place. Lizzie’s hands find their way to the waistband of Penelope’s jeans and she undoes the button, mouth hovering over Penelope’s, their breaths mingling. 

When Lizzie’s fingers glide slowly down through Penelope’s underwear and she takes a swipe across Penelope’s entrance, Penelope’s jaw clenches tight, biting and tugging at Lizzie’s lower lip with such force that Lizzie tastes iron. 

Penelope’s hips buck against her hand, unable to get friction because it’s not _Lizzie’s_ fault her jeans are so damn tight. She’s soaking though, even from the one small swipe of Lizzie’s finger through her folds and Lizzie can feel herself growing wet at the knowledge of how worked up Penelope is. She wonders briefly where she had been and who she had been with, but that’s none of her business. All that matters is that Penelope is with her now, clearly ready to fuck all night. 

Lizzie brings her hand back out of Penelope’s pants and the witch groans, pinching and twisting Lizzie’s nipples in retaliation. “You fucking tease,” she whispers against Lizzie’s lips.

Pulling her sweater over her head and stepping out of her leggings, Lizzie turns without another word, grabbing the whiskey and walking back toward her bedroom, a swagger in her hips as she struts away clad only in a navy blue thong. Penelope recovers in about three seconds, chasing after Lizzie to grab an arm and spin her around, pushing her against the wall in the hallway. 

“My poor mirror,” Lizzie sighs in mock frustration, as the decoration falls crooked (again) from Penelope’s haste to get to Lizzie, but the smirk on her face is playful. Penelope surges forward, her heels giving her the necessary height she needs as she takes hold of Lizzie’s wrists, pinning her arms on either side of her head.

She kisses Lizzie bruisingly, muttering something about buying her a new mirror and better hooks to hang it, and the kiss becomes heated quickly. It’s a mess of lips and tongue and teeth and Lizzie scratches at Penelope’s chest and stomach to get the lace top off her body. Penelope helps her, tugging it over her head and launching it in the direction of Lizzie’s kitchen. Her jeans are just as difficult, but soon a trail of clothing leads from the front door to the bedroom. 

Penelope directs Lizzie backward, falling on top of her as Lizzie sits up to grab at Penelope’s hips and palm her ass. Penelope straddles Lizzie then, arms flung around her neck. 

“You got new sheets,” she remarks, eyes opening quickly to look at the new decor in Lizzie’s bedroom as she runs a hand through her hair. 

“Shut up, Park,” Lizzie sighs, a moan escaping her lips as Penelope’s nails scratch parallel lines down her back. 

“Make me,” Penelope challenges, hands moving back up to Lizzie’s face to pull her into a kiss. The bottle of whiskey is passed wordlessly between them. Penelope pours it straight into her mouth at one point, then licks the spill off of Lizzie’s chest as if it was water and she was absolutely parched. Lizzie arches closer, closer to the burn of the whiskey and Penelope’s mouth on her skin. 

They don’t talk much more after that. Not in sentences, at least. Not for quite a while. 

“I hear we’re planning a wedding.”

“I’m planning a wedding,” Lizzie corrects, licking her lips and tasting whiskey and Penelope, a few minutes after the fourth? Fifth orgasm? “You can help, maybe.”

Penelope shakes her head and stretches languidly, the sheets slipping off her body, still slick with sweat. “You’re lucky to have me. I already talked Hope out of wearing jeans.”

“What is wrong with them? It’s like they actually want it to be horrible,” Lizzie turns over to lay on her stomach, propping up her head in her hand. She resists the urge to trace her fingers over Penelope’s stomach, around her breast, and down her sternum for about thirty seconds before she gives in. Her finger leaves goosebumps along Penelope’s chest as she moves it and the witch lay watching her. She’s always calmer after, the afterglow of the orgasm wrapping around Penelope and making her lines and edges a bit less jagged. 

“Well they’re either so in love they don’t care, or they just don’t know how to plan a party.” Penelope hums as Lizzie’s hand strokes down on her side, her eyes falling shut. 

“It’s both,” Lizzie says, resting her head on Penelope’s chest, her ear vibrating with the beat of Penelope’s heart. “You know it’s both.” 

They fall asleep wrapped up in each other, hickies dotting Penelope’s hips and the middle of Lizzie’s thighs. The bottle lay forgotten on the floor. 

* * *

Lizzie wakes up with her lips against the back of Penelope’s neck, her arms clutching the witch and pulling her into her like a prized teddy bear. Their legs are intertwined and it’s _nice_. Far too nice. Lizzie sinks into the feeling, gripping at Penelope’s chest, their hands clasped, feigning sleep because she can’t find it in herself to move. 

She feels herself nuzzling deeper into Penelope’s neck, stealing these moments and hoarding them for later because they never did this. It broke so many of their artificial barriers. 

Penelope shifts in her sleep as Lizzie presses her nose more fully into her neck. If her lips happen to meet skin, well, she’s only human and she was half-asleep. It might happen three or four more times, Lizzie dots lazy kisses up to Penelope’s hairline and down below her ear before Penelope moans. Lizzie responds with a dramatic sigh of her own, pulling her arm away from Penelope’s chest and flopping on her back, pretending she had been asleep. 

“You slept over,” Lizzie groans, turning away from Penelope to check the time on her phone on her bedside table. It was barely past eight in the morning. 

“You tired me out,” the other witch says and her voice still has the raspy timbre that it did the night previous. It was far too early for Lizzie to be turned on, but somehow, Penelope found a way to break even that rule too. 

“We don’t do that,” Lizzie points out, trying to sound calm. It’s not like she cares. 

Penelope climbs out of bed, rolling her eyes. “Scared you’re going to fall in love with me if you see me in the light of day, Lizzie?” 

“More afraid you’ll explode into ashes without your daylight ring. I just had my house cleaned.” 

“I’ll go shower,” Penelope declares, “and make sure that when I combust, it’s into clean ashes. Do you want to join me or do you want to sulk?”

“It would be a crime to waste water,” Lizzie says breezily, jumping out of bed and following Penelope into her bathroom. She wasn’t — nope, she definitely wasn’t going to question the comfort that she felt waking up next to Penelope. Nope, not going there. 

Twenty minutes later, much more relaxed, Lizzie is leaning back against her kitchen counter, watching Penelope stroll in. “Should I get you a drawer, then? You keep leaving things here,” Lizzie says, a mug of coffee clutched in her fingers. Penelope stands across from her, mirroring her stance. She was dressed in a pair of her shorts and a tank she had left at Lizzie’s at some point a few months ago. 

“And you keep wearing them. This is _mine,_ ” she points out, taking two steps forward, her mug deposited on the counter behind her as she fists a hand in the shirt Lizzie was wearing, bringing their mouths centimeters apart. She kisses Lizzie then, tasting of coffee and sleep and Lizzie nearly spills her own coffee before placing the mug down, surrendering to the kiss and winding her arms around Penelope’s neck. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t treat my house like a damn laundromat then,” Lizzie challenges, breaking apart from Penelope as she noses along her cheek. 

“Maybe if you didn’t always throw my clothes when you tore them off of me, I’d be able to find them better,” Penelope retorts, silencing Lizzie with her lips, her tongue licking into her mouth. 

If she’s in a much better mood than usual that day, that has nothing at all to do with Penelope. Lizzie just likes sex and whiskey. Waking up next to Penelope has nothing to do with it. Showering with Penelope definitely has nothing to do with it. Saying goodbye to Penelope with another kiss that lingers and takes her breath away really has nothing at all to do with it. 

* * *

They meet up frequently to plan the engagement party for the happy couple and it’s _weird_ in a good way. It’s weird how they are able to work together so seamlessly. They have no problem fucking each other’s brains out and have gotten quite good at it in the years that they’ve had practice, but it’s altogether quite jarring just how _easy_ it is to navigate party planning with the daughter of Hades. 

Almost as if Penelope can anticipate problems and already have a solution at the ready.

Almost as if she can navigate any chokepoints with ease, particularly when it came to catering because Hope and Josie were better than burgers and fries. (No matter how much they were fine with burgers and fries). 

Almost as if she knew Lizzie well enough to know what decorations she would love and loathe, which venues were no’s, and which ones were maybe’s. She’d verbally demolished the two decorators with the worst ideas, and Lizzie hadn’t even needed to say a word. It had been nice to watch. 

And if Penelope had vocalized that Lizzie would look killer in the little black dress that she had hanging in her closet, well, it was merely a coincidence that Lizzie had worn it for the party. 

The engagement party takes place on a Saturday night nearly a month after the twin’s birthday. The weather was finally warm enough for them to take advantage of an outdoor venue and Lizzie had rented the space at a small restaurant in Mystic Falls that boasts the best New Orleans cuisine outside of Louisiana (Hope better fucking thank her for that).

The patio was lit up with fairy lights and metal lanterns hung in the tree canopy overhead. Candles floating in water sat on the tabletop (Penelope’s idea) and Lizzie could smell etouffee and jambalaya from the kitchens. 

Armed with a clipboard and barking orders at the waitstaff, Lizzie was unstoppable, but the smiles that Hope and Josie wore on their faces were totally worth it, even if she would admit it to no one. She liked seeing them this happy. They both deserved it, caught in their own world, eyes only for each other. 

“You’ve been staring at her all night,” Freya comments, sliding up next to Lizzie with a champagne flute in her hands. Lizzie feels her face grow warm under Freya’s eyes but she sets her jaw and glances over at Hope’s aunt. Her aunt, really, for all intents and purposes. If Lizzie was being honest with herself, and she never was, she always had a bit of hero-worship when it came to Freya. She was impenetrable, the most brilliant witch of all time, and yet she loved with a ferocity and passion that eclipsed everything else. 

“What is with this family?” Lizzie groans under her breath, her knuckles white as she clutches the clipboard. She’d only been looking at Penelope for a second. Or two. “No one likes this many know-it-alls in one spot.”

“We’ve lost enough people to know that love is worth a risk or two.”

“There is no — no one is talking about love, Freya. Disdain and slight sexual attraction, maybe.”

Freya laughs at that, nodding into her champagne flute and god, Lizzie needed a drink. It was one thing to plan the best party that this town had ever seen, but it was another to make sure that it went off without a hitch completely sober. Penelope was having no problem drinking on the job though, Lizzie notes bitterly, watching her with Hope and M.G., her face slightly flushed from the alcohol. 

“Mmm, I know you. You’ve got the whole ‘I’m damaged goods and therefore no one should come near me because there’s just going to be a body count at the end of the day’ thing going on. It doesn’t work like that, Lizzie.” 

She’s far too sober for this conversation. 

“And how does it work? Because the universe said that one of us should have died a month ago and here we are, _both of us_ , celebrating Josie marrying the love of her life.” Lizzie felt her throat close up, her voice rising in pitch because of all people Freya had to understand. Had seen her family get torn apart countless times. 

“Fuck the universe. And fate and whatever other excuses you have for why you can’t be with her.” Freya’s blue eyes shine in the lights and she’s looking at Keelin now, a smile dancing across her face. 

“I loathe her.” She really wishes that it sounded more truthful, even to her own ears. 

“You really don’t. Would it change things if you knew that she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you either?” 

“You’re getting delusional in your old age, Freya.”

“And you should dance with your girl, Lizzie.”

“Not my girl,” Lizzie bites back. Freya moves away from her with just a smile, depositing her glass on a side table and grabbing Keelin by the waist. She spins her into the center of the dancefloor and Lizzie’s heart clenches. 

She doesn’t want this. She never has. She’s never had the life expectancy to want anything like this. 

“We rock at this,” Penelope’s voice interrupts her musings. Lizzie hadn’t noticed her leaving M.G. and the group assembled by the bar. Her eyes had stayed unfocused after Freya’s words. 

“Modest,” Lizzie teases, and can’t help the smile that crosses her face at Penelope’s presence. She was being dumb, foolish even, caught up in all of the stupid love that was in the air because of Hope and Josie. No, it definitely wasn’t because the navy blue dress that Penelope was wearing was showing off her back and her legs in a way that made Lizzie’s mouth water. It wasn’t because her hair was shining from the lanterns and her eyes were bright green, like an emerald with the sun beaming through. And it certainly wasn’t the way Penelope was looking at her, actually looking at her, with something akin to _affection._

“It’s a decent party,” she admits and Penelope laughs, handing her a glass of wine.

“Here, have a drink with me. Dinner’s been served, everyone’s behaving, you can let loose a little.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Lizzie says, but takes the glass from her just the same. 

“You say that like it’s ever stopped you before,” Penelope whispers, her lips close to Lizzie’s ear and since when was she standing so near? 

“You never told me why you came back to school for the last year before we graduated,” Lizzie begins, because she can’t get Freya’s words out of her mind. Because she needs some clarity, she needs _something_ to explain what this is with Penelope. They’ve never explained themselves to each other though. They take and take and take from each other when allowed. They don’t tear open scars and look at the broken pieces that time healed.

“You’ve never asked,” Penelope says slowly, eyes looking anywhere but at Lizzie. 

“I’m asking now,” Lizzie says, and there’s a pleading tone in her voice that she hates. She blames it on this stupid party and these stupid feelings and stupid Freya for even trying to get into her head in the first place. 

Penelope takes a sip of her wine, eyes on the liquid in her glass before crossing her arms over her chest. “Josie was a pushover when it came to you — stop it, I’m talking now because _you_ asked,” Penelope says quickly as Lizzie opens her mouth to protest. 

“I found out about the Merge and I knew that she would do something dumb like sacrifice herself for you. Which, Josie deserved a fighting chance. You both did. After everything that happened — which Hope kept me up to speed on, by the way — after all that happened, my mom got word that they were transferring her job back here and it just seemed right to finish school with my friends.” 

“You don’t have friends,” Lizzie points out, more biting than she intended. 

“Neither do you,” Penelope retorts. “Anyway, Hope and Josie were already — whatever they were — falling in love or in love or something like that and — all that I ever wanted was for her to put herself first for once. She was your protector and maybe that worked when you were younger, but neither of you needs someone to save you. You’re both annoyingly powerful in your own right. The co-dependency thing was just some excuse for Josie to linger in the shadows when you both deserve to stand out. Hope helped her see that she didn’t need to be scared of herself, that she didn’t need to hide behind you.” 

Lizzie stands there silently, Penelope’s words washing over her before she takes a large sip of her wine. It does nothing to quiet her racing heart. 

“Any more truths that you want to share? Maybe what you were talking to Freya about?” Penelope probes, a smirk on her face as if she knew exactly what Lizzie and Freya had talked about. “No? Don’t care to share? Fine, I need a shot and a cigarette and I would preferably like to end this evening with your head between my legs.” 

“Such a sweet talker,” Lizzie mutters, but Penelope’s words are still all over her mind. She leaves Penelope standing there, walking to the bar in a few quick strides to get two shots of whiskey, nodding with her head for Penelope to follow her. She had found a small garden off to the side of the patio, a white wrought-iron bench at the center under yet more lanterns. 

“You always did keep the nicer things for yourself, didn’t you?” Penelope observes and Lizzie just laughs, passing Penelope the second shot glass as she pulls out a cigarette for the pair to share. Penelope sits next to her, an arm slung over the back of the bench, fingertip grazing Lizzie’s shoulder and back as Lizzie lights the cigarette. 

“We’re in public,” Lizzie admonishes her, but she shivers from the touch just the same. 

“No, we aren't,” Penelope whispers, leaning her head down to kiss at the base of Lizzie’s neck. “Fine, I’ll keep my hands to myself. For now. Are we drinking this then?” She holds up the small glass of amber liquid, leveling Lizzie with as serious of a look as she could muster, an eyebrow raised. 

“To the best party this boring ass town has ever seen, thanks only to me,” Lizzie states, downing the shot glass. Penelope just glares at her and she amends her statement, swallowing back the burn in her throat. “And you helped too, I guess.”

“It is _shocking_ to me that you are still single,” Penelope says, before she, too, takes the shot, clearing her throat after swallowing and stealing the cigarette from Lizzie as a chaser. 

“Be grateful that I am or you’d have to pick up people in bars.”

“Who says I’m not still doing that?” 

She doesn’t know — they’ve never talked about it and they’re certainly not _exclusive_ and just the fact that Lizzie hasn’t gone on so much as a date in four years, doesn’t mean it’s true for Penelope.

She breathes in deeply. “You kind of have an off-putting personality. So, it seems like a safe assumption that you’re not.”

Penelope gasps in mock hurt. “And here I thought you liked my off-putting personality.” She shrugs, almost carelessly. “I wouldn’t have the time, anyway.”

“Oh yeah, why is that?” Lizzie exhales the smoke skyward, her fingers tingling with the desire to put her hand on Penelope’s thigh, even as the witch sits with barely a breath between them. Penelope’s hand was playing lazily with the hairs at the back of Lizzie’s neck and it was nice. If someone were to catch them right now, Lizzie wasn’t sure she had it in her to lie anymore about what they were to each other. 

“You’re kind of high-maintenance,” Penelope replies and shrugs her shoulders, her gaze firmly on Lizzie. It wasn’t like all the other times Penelope looked at her. Her gaze was content, serene even. As if she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. 

“Says the girl who frequently shows up to my house and leaves her clothes everywhere for me to find and wash. The girl who convinced me to get a different body wash, shampoo, and conditioner because and I quote ‘if they’re testing it on animals, it doesn’t deserve to be on my body.’ The girl who demanded that I buy the fair-trade coffee and sustainably-sourced throw pillows. ” 

“I made your bed the last three times I’ve slept over. I deserve points for that. And you love those throw pillows.“

They did look great, even if Lizzie would never admit that. And Penelope wasn’t supposed to sleep over, but she had been more often than not. Lizzie hated that she looked forward to it almost as much as she looked forward to the orgasms. 

Besides, her mind is spinning with all the recent revelations. “I’m not convinced.”

“If you — finally — help me get us out of here, I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.” Penelope’s smile is intoxicating, nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey that they just had, which was settling low in Lizzie’s stomach, warming her all over. 

“How does that prove that I’m high maintenance?” 

“Do you want the crepes or not, Saltzman?” Penelope takes the cigarette from Lizzie, exhaling through her nose and Lizzie allows herself one simple sin, running her finger down the slit in Penelope’s dress, the nail leaving a line on Penelope’s thigh. She looks up at Penelope then and has the stupid thought to kiss her, underneath the lights, in this garden that was far too intimate for the likes of them. Where truths were spilled and secrets were whispered and all they were to each other were fuck buddies. 

She leans in and Penelope’s breath audibly catches in her throat, not expecting the action. But they were pressed against each other and all Lizzie had to do was duck her head. She noses Penelope’s cheek, feels Penelope’s warm, shaky exhale. 

“We’re going to your place then,” Lizzie says, a fire igniting in her veins at the tiny pinpricks of light in Penelope’s irises. 

“That — that’s fi—” Penelope isn’t able to finish her thought and Lizzie couldn’t care less, because even if she had been playing with Penelope, moving so close to her, she played herself and the proximity to the witch always set her off. She presses her lips to Penelope’s, taking the plunge because she was foolish, always had been, and something about this moment merited a kiss. 

It’s far too soft, far too tender, and it's intimate in a way that lacks the lust and desperation and alcohol that’s usually laced in their kisses and present in all of their dalliances. Instead, it’s filled with that pesky affection that Lizzie had picked up on earlier and it makes her heart beat so much faster. 

When Penelope opens her mouth to breathe Lizzie in, it takes everything in her not to straddle the witch. She settles instead for kissing Penelope deeper, her tongue sliding into her mouth. Penelope tastes like she always tastes, the familiarity and comfort of it sends shockwaves through Lizzie’s system. But maybe that was just Penelope’s hand at the back of her neck pulling her more fully into her. 

Lizzie’s dizzy when they pull apart and she sees just how blown Penelope’s pupils are, her chest rising and falling, lips slick and kiss-swollen. 

“You think they’ve set something on fire since we’ve been gone? You know Josie can’t be trusted around candles.” Lizzie makes the joke in order to deflect from the feeling of weightlessness that was annoyingly happening from Penelope’s kisses recently. To deflect from the butterflies in her stomach. 

“Let’s go see,” Penelope stands quickly, holding a hand out to Lizzie that the siphon refuses to take. Penelope rolls her eyes, whether at Lizzie or herself before she reaches a hand up to Lizzie’s lip, the pad of her thumb moving across the soft skin. Penelope was always a tactile person, but this was new and not entirely unpleasant. 

“Can’t have you walking around looking debauched just yet. People would ask too many questions.” 

“You would be so lucky to be associated with me, Park,” Lizzie says, hoping her pupils weren’t betraying her from the kiss they had just shared as she walks back toward the party on shaky legs. Her body certainly was. She was horny and needed an excuse to leave this party as soon as possible and have her way with Penelope.

“There's a catering emergency,” Penelope says, as they approach Hope and Josie, sounding as if she’s absolutely telling the truth. “So, you two enjoy your party and we’ll be back soon.”

“Do you really have to go? We already ate.” Josie states, confused. Hope meanwhile, standing behind her, is obviously smirking.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Lizzie reminds her. She really hopes she isn’t blushing. She probably is. Damn it, Penelope. 

Hope rolls her eyes before tugging on Josie’s hand. “Come on, you haven’t danced enough with me yet. And you know they’ll have fun scaring the shit out of our poor caterer.”

Josie relents easily because she was always putty in Hope’s hands and Hope mouths “you owe me,” over her shoulder. Lizzie resists the urge to give Hope the finger. 

Then, it’s just her and Penelope standing there, and for some reason, Lizzie’s heart is racing.

“Take me home, Park.” Penelope swallows once, deeply, before nodding, turning to grab the purse that she had tossed into a chair hours before, her stupid leather jacket thrown over her shoulders. Lizzie turns around to watch Hope and Josie sway in the middle of the dancefloor, their eyes closed as they move in a small circle. 

A feeling of want clenches around her heart, but as she looks back at Penelope, waiting for her with her keys in her hand, and a smile like sin on her lips, maybe, just maybe, what she had with Penelope was enough. For now, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you actually want a real drink now that you’re not on duty?” Penelope asks, kicking off her heels as she steps inside her apartment, Lizzie behind her, running a hand through her hair. Penelope doesn’t wait for an answer, moving toward her kitchen while Lizzie moves around the living room. 

They don’t come here much, which Lizzie prefers because she liked her house and her bed, liked being on her home turf, but Penelope’s style is splashed all across the walls with photos of her family, places they had visited together, snapshots in black and white of a smiling group of people all with dark hair and green eyes. 

They look happy. Not that Lizzie would know for sure. Family has been synonymous with a lot of things in her life, death being at the top of the list. Happiness, not so much. 

Penelope appears behind her, pressing a glass of whiskey in her hand and a kiss to her neck. Her hand lingers on Lizzie’s hip, and god, she’s so done for. She takes a sip of the liquid, an attempt to distract herself from Penelope’s intoxicating presence. It doesn’t work. 

“I’m not the only one who keeps the good stuff to herself,” she states — the whiskey tastes amazing — and Penelope laughs. 

“I’m sharing with you. Consider it an honor,” Penelope points out, and deftly spins Lizzie around to kiss her. Lizzie regrets not dancing with Penelope at the party. She regrets a lot of things, really. But she nearly drops her drink because the kiss they had snuck in the garden was one thing, but this was something altogether different. 

Penelope kisses like she’s on a mission, pulling Lizzie’s body flush with hers, fingertips sliding along silk and skin. She kisses like she wants to possess Lizzie, own her and make Lizzie her own, and after the night that Lizzie had, she was in a mood to be claimed. To be taken. To be had. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

Lizzie opens her mouth to the kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, whiskey and hints of smoke, feeling Penelope’s tongue gliding along her bottom lip before moving inside of her mouth. The glass is grabbed from her hand and placed down on a table because even if Penelope had zero regard for her home, she was a neat freak and would shriek if whiskey spilled on her rug.

(Lizzie hoped to make her shriek because of something else very soon).

Penelope vaguely mumbles something that sounds like _bed_ against Lizzie’s mouth and all Lizzie can do is nod as Penelope gropes her ass, hands moving everywhere along her dress. Lizzie thinks to tell her not to rip anything, but as they stumble through Penelope’s apartment, they break apart long enough for Penelope to flip Lizzie against a wall (she had a thing for doing that), biting and licking into her earlobe as she found the zipper. Her fingers drop Lizzie’s dress to the floor and Lizzie spins, pulling off her own underwear before she grabs Penelope by the jaw, pulling her in for a bruising kiss.

Lizzie wants to hold onto this moment for as long as she can, so she pulls away, a hand rubbing across Penelope’s cheek and across her lips. She sees the want in Penelope’s eyes, knows it mirrors her own. They kiss again and Lizzie finds the zipper on Penelope’s dress, tugging and pulling, earning a bite at her lower lip (Penelope had a thing for doing that too) as a threat to handle the dress kindly.

“So bossy,” Lizzie moans, but Penelope’s finally free of the dress and they fall into each other on the bed. Lizzie straddles Penelope the way she wished she could have in the garden. She drags her nails from Penelope’s cheeks down to her jaw, pulling her in for another heated kiss, grasping at the back of her neck. Penelope’s scratching lines down her back, willing Lizzie to do more than just grind down on her like a horny teenager. 

Penelope groans her name and Lizzie moves downwards, grateful that Penelope had chosen not to wear a bra under her dress. Shoving her backward, Lizzie follows Penelope down onto the bed, her mouth moving down her chin, biting at the skin on her neck, intent on leaving as many marks as she could. She licks and bites at Penelope’s pulse point, grabbing at Penelope’s chest as the witch breathes, moans, whimpers in her ears. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to touch me all night,” she exhales, but Lizzie just smiles into her neck, sucking in a patch of skin, her tongue massaging it after she bites and pulls, before moving lower over Penelope’s collarbone and finally, finally, capturing a nipple in her mouth. 

“Fuck,” Penelope rasps, her nails digging into Lizzie’s back and god, that felt amazing. She bites gently on the bud as her other hand plays with Penelope’s other nipple, twisting it between thumb and forefinger. Switching to the other nipple when the first was hard against her tongue, Penelope’s hands run through Lizzie’s hair, playing with the curls and scratching down her scalp each time Lizzie bites and sucks just a bit harder. Penelope’s loud already, her breathing ragged and hips canting upwards and Lizzie can smell herself and Penelope, the arousal mixing with their perfumes. 

Moving her mouth back to Penelope’s neck and up to her lips, Penelope clutches Lizzie to her, grabbing and pulling to find some friction, anything against Lizzie’s hips, winding her legs around her waist. She kisses Lizzie hard to convey her feelings and it’s all teeth and tongue and magic. 

“You can feel how wet I am, can’t you?” Penelope asks her, her voice low right in Lizzie’s ears, grazing her teeth over her earlobe and licking a line up her neck. “And you’re taking your sweet ass time, Saltzman.” She bites at Lizzie’s ear and the siphon sees stars, a shudder of pleasure rushing to her core.“So, hurry the fuck up.”

“Be patient for once in your life,” Lizzie breathes but then Penelope just says “Lizzie,” and it’s husky, like a warning. Or a plea. The blonde brings her eyes level with Penelope, leaning up, hands on either side of Penelope’s face. Her jade green eyes are dark pupils blown and she looks nearly spent already, her chest heaving. Lizzie sees passion and desire, a storm within those eyes, but something else lurks there, something that tells Lizzie that she is going wild with need. She’s so fucking gorgeous like this. 

“Oh, you want me to do something?” Lizzie teases, a smirk on her face and she kisses Penelope slowly, trying to dictate the pace even as Penelope’s nails resume their trail up and down her back, digging in. Penelope groans into Lizzie’s mouth and the blonde thinks she hears the word _tease_ between kisses. Lizzie dips her head again, dragging her lips down Penelope’s neck, across her collarbones and sternum, pausing at her breasts to suck her nipples once more and tonguing into her bellybutton. “I think you requested my head between your legs, if I remember correctly.”

Penelope is still in her underwear, or rather, her poor excuse for a pair of underwear because the black lace is soaked. Lizzie kneels between Penelope’s legs, grabbing the waistband of the panties with both hands, her lips following the material, kissing down Penelope’s thighs to her calves and still lower on her legs. Pulling the panties free and dropping them behind her on the floor, Lizzie kisses at Penelope’s ankle, fingertips dancing up the path that her lips just created. 

“Lizzie,” Penelope moans again, head thrown back against the pillows, spine arching. Lizzie bites at Penelope’s legs and up her thighs, dotting kisses towards her core, her tongue mapping a trail of freckles that she always somehow found herself following on her way to eating Penelope out. 

When she finally reaches Penelope’s core, she blows on her clit once, then twice, chuckling low at the gasp that she elicits from Penelope. She then traces her thumbs through Penelope’s folds, spreading the witch’s legs open wider as she lays between them. “Fuck,” drips from Penelope’s lips like a prayer and any trace of frustration seems to have leaked out of her at Lizzie’s touch. Fire builds and pools low inside Lizzie’s stomach at the sight, Penelope laid out before her. Holy shit, she’s so turned on. 

She licks a line up through Penelope’s folds toward her clit with the flat of her tongue and Penelope’s hand finds its way to the back of her head, her thighs already quivering. “God, yes,” Penelope says and Lizzie feels herself moan against her clit at the praise. 

Reaching up with both hands, Lizzie palms both of Penelope’s breasts as she licks her, massaging her with hands and mouth, breathing her in with each inhale and exhale. She can feel Penelope arch her back and spread her thighs as wide as she can, her swears and exhales filling the room as she nudges Lizzie in closer. 

“Fuck, I need you inside of me, babe,” Penelope says and Lizzie can’t do anything but obey, one hand moving down and pushing one finger inside. Penelope is so fucking wet for her, nearly dripping and Lizzie’s chin was no doubt already soaked. She thrusts inside of Penelope, curling her finger with each push in and out and its messy and Lizzie glances up to watch Penelope, gripping one hand to the back of Lizzie’s head and the other in the sheets, her moans becoming more and more strangled as Lizzie worked her tongue and her hands, licking and sucking, twisting and turning her nipple and rubbing her breast. 

It doesn’t take long for Lizzie to add another finger that Penelope sinks onto, a shuddering moan breaking through her lips, one leg moving over Lizzie’s back for more leverage to pull her impossibly closer. Lizzie feels drunk, drunk on the feeling of her mouth working between Penelope’s thighs, drunk on the taste of Penelope, drunk on the noises that she is coaxing out of her as her chest heaved and grew slick with sweat, her back arching higher and higher. 

She feels Penelope’s hand tighten in her hair, knows that she’s close as she chants _fuck fuck fuck_ under her breath. Lizzie marvels at the sight, replacing her mouth with her thumb to move back up Penelope’s body. She wants to kiss her as she comes, breathe in the moans and the sensations of Penelope Park falling apart underneath her.

She keeps her eyes closed as soon she finds Penelope’s lips because it would be far too intimate to watch her as she comes. She would feel too much and she _already_ does. The sight might break her. So she keeps working her hand, in and out of Penelope with deep, slow thrusts as Penelope grinds against her, making a mess on her fingers and palm. She can’t help it though, when she opens her eyes again and she sees Penelope watching her, mouth open, her breath mingling with Lizzie’s. 

“Lizzie — don’t, don’t close your eyes — look at me, watch me, ” she says, in a soft voice, and her eyes so intense and dark and Lizzie sees her breathing change, sees her chest heave and she keeps her relentless pace, watching Penelope’s face as she fucks her. She should close her eyes, but she doesn’t, holding Penelope’s gaze instead.

When she comes, Lizzie’s name breaks out of Penelope’s mouth and onto her lips and it’s breathless and high, nearly a whimper. Penelope finally closes her eyes at the orgasm, her body shuddering underneath Lizzie, who doesn’t stop, can’t stop. She thrusts her fingers in and out slower until she knows that Penelope has ridden out the orgasm. She grasps Lizzie by her back, one hand still in her hair, and her kisses are lazy and open-mouthed as she relaxes onto the bed. 

“You’ve really made it so hard to sleep with other people,” Penelope says cryptically, a hand over her eyes after she’s recovered. Lizzie lays on the pillow next to her, swallows down the barrage of questions she has. 

“Is that another compliment from you? Two in the span of a year?” Lizzie tries not to let the smile shine bright, her stupid, traitorous heart thumping wildly as she gazed up at Penelope’s ceiling. 

“Don’t let it get to your head, Saltzman. It’s simply a factual observation.” Penelope turns on her side to face Lizzie, a finger drifting from her neck down her sternum and across her stomach. 

“Coming from you, it’s high praise,” Lizzie replies, her eyes focused on Penelope, goosebumps rising in the wake of her finger. 

“You’re exceptional, Lizzie,” Penelope says softly, and Lizzie almost wants to believe her. 

“And you’re absolutely full of it,” Lizzie replies, but she’s smiling just the same because this version of Penelope — one stripped clean and bare — is truly a sight to behold. She is rawer, unburdened in these moments and Lizzie wishes that she could see this side of her all of the time. 

Minutes pass or maybe it has just been seconds as they lay there with each other. It’s comforting, these in-between moments, and Lizzie feels a rush through her body as a soft sigh escapes from her mouth because Penelope has this look in her eyes, shifting and transforming from serene to hungry in a flash. She has a look on her face like she wants nothing more than to make Lizzie come undone over and over again, and Lizzie wants nothing more than for her to do just that. 

She leans in close then, eliminating any space between them, thrusting a thigh between Lizzie’s legs. 

“Come here and I’ll show you just how _exceptional_ I think you are,” Penelope says, a touch too tender for the words that just left her lips, grabbing and pulling Lizzie toward her by the back of her neck.

Lizzie inhales slowly, her heart still racing, watches Penelope close the distance between them. She wants the kiss to be gentle — to convey all the things she isn't allowed to say, things she never allowed herself to believe could be possible for someone like her with someone like Penelope. She wants Penelope to kiss her like she means it. Like Lizzie was more than just a late-night fuck. 

But as soon as her lips touch Penelope’s, the world shifts and sparks, a firestorm raging and burning and bright, crackling through the air, and Lizzie loses herself. She’s never willingly siphoned from Penelope — she’s always held back and kept that part of herself hidden, guarded because kissing Penelope, siphoning from her and breathing her in is like stoking the embers of a dying fire until it rages into an inferno. It’s like the moment a wave crests and breaks upon the shore, pent-up energy and motion spilling over everything. She feels Penelope’s hands run over her shoulders and Lizzie pulls Penelope more fully into her, nails scraping over Penelope’s neck and down her back as Lizzie bites and tugs on her bottom lip.

Lizzie had meant for the kiss to be soft and sweet, but it's teeth and heat and passion surging upwards and she knows she can lose herself, has lost herself before into a kiss like this from Penelope. Her tongue pushes into Penelope’s mouth and Penelope inhales a moan as she pulls Lizzie into her, fingers grasping at her hips. Lizzie breathes Penelope in, euphoria pulsing in her veins and her head spinning. No one else had ever made her feel like this. 

The wave of the kiss ebbs and Lizzie chases after Penelope’s lips, peppering down her jawline to her pulse point as Penelope shifts, positioning herself on top of Lizzie, watching her. Her lips are open, parted and Lizzie stares at them. They’re lips she’s memorized. Lips she wants to kiss over and over and over. 

Penelope grabs her jaw, angling her head to bring their lips together once more. Lizzie can feel the rush of Penelope’s power in her veins, Penelope’s fingers sliding between her legs. It’s too much and not enough, and a desperate moan tumbles from her lips as she pulls Penelope closer, presses their bodies together. 

“Do that again,” Penelope demands when they break apart, meeting her eyes and her irises are like looking at a smoldering fire, smoke drifting across burnt wood. Her voice is low enough that it nearly cracks and breaks across Lizzie’s face and she’s staring at Lizzie with awe written across her features. 

“Siphon from you?” Lizzie asks, her hands cupping Penelope’s face, the conversation slipping away as Penelope flexes her fingers against her aching core. 

“Yeah, it felt like —fuck, it felt so good. Why haven’t you ever done that before?” 

“Because consent, you asshole. I didn’t mean to — just now, I didn’t mean to,” Lizzie explains, and she almost averts her gaze, but Penelope smiles, her fingers languidly moving in a way that drives Lizzie absolutely insane and keeps Lizzie’s eyes focused on Penelope. 

“Do it again,” she repeats. 

This time, she starts slower, more carefully. Penelope’s power is still a rush, absolutely exhilarating, and every inch of her body feels like it’s on fire. (Maybe this is why Josie had a love affair with flames.) 

When they break apart, Penelope’s cheeks are flushed with color. She’s beautiful, Lizzie thinks. She doesn’t say it. Maybe next time. 

Penelope’s finger circles her clit with slow movements and Lizzie arches against her, pressing her mouth against the skin of Penelope’s neck. Penelope’s power, running through her veins, feels grounding, calming, and Penelope’s fingers between her legs leave her feeling breathless and the combination is exhilarating. 

When she meets Penelope’s eyes, her pupils are blown, and she’s watching Lizzie, her free hand cupping her cheek before her thumb swipes tenderly over Lizzie’s bottom lip. She moves closer to kiss her and it’s tongue and teeth, and Lizzie moans into Penelope’s mouth. She can’t help it. She’s already so worked up, dizzy from siphoning and filled to the brim with Penelope’s essence. 

Lizzie throws her head back, deeper into the pillows and mattress when Penelope’s mouth and lips begin dotting lines across her breasts, circling around her nipples, the featherlight touches turning into bites that burn and pinch in the best way. 

Lizzie inhales sharply when Penelope latches onto one of her nipples, her tongue swirling around and sucking and soothing in one motion. She arches on the sheets, breathing up to the ceiling because Penelope somehow always knew the best ways to tear Lizzie asunder, and at the rate she was going, she wouldn’t last long. 

She curses, tangling her hands in Penelope’s hair. Penelope’s far too good at this, and between her mouth marking up every inch of Lizzie’s breasts and her fingers circling her clit, she’s already so, so close, and she needs — 

“More —” she gasps out and Penelope, for once, doesn’t say anything snarky, but just moves back up her body, the flat of her palm against her clit as she sticks two fingers inside of Lizzie. A loud moan escapes Lizzie’s mouth and she should have put up a silencing charm but had been a bit busy earlier, the fog of the whiskey and Penelope dizzying and disorienting her. 

Penelope’s fingers feel so good inside of her and she tells her as much, whispering against her lips, with one hand on her cheek and the other tangled in her hair. “That feels so good, fuck Pen — holy shit.” She’s mumbling, pausing between kisses and gasps and Penelope is there with her, her breaths warm against Lizzie’s lips. 

“Can you take another?” Penelope exhales into Lizzie’s mouth and she sighs loudly, the thought of it sending another jolt of pleasure through her core and she nods shakily. 

“God — fuck — yes,” she gasps out, her eyes falling shut as Penelope slides a third finger inside of her. Her breathing is ragged and she loves this, Penelope’s fingers stretching her, the other witch pressed against her. It’s perfect. 

Penelope’s curling her fingers and fuck, Lizzie is so, so close, grinding down against them. She comes with Penelope’s name on her lips, and she feels herself shattering to pieces. Penelope kisses her again, her tongue moving slowly in her mouth and Lizzie feels the stinging of tears at the corner of her eyes that she quickly blinks away. She’s not going to get emotional in the middle of sex. Fuck no. "Exceptional," Penelope whispers against her lips as they break apart. 

Penelope falls to the bed next to Lizzie, who brushes her hand over Penelope’s lower lip and they’re swollen and the lipstick is smudged and Lizzie really wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s close to dawn by the time they fall asleep, the last few rounds a test of Lizzie’s fragile willpower as Penelope coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of her. 

She wakes up to an absolutely divine smell, stumbling into the kitchen after stealing a shirt that is most definitely not her own. Penelope stands before the stove, a pensive look on her face as she watches the pan before her, armed with a spatula and a fist at her waist. Lizzie can’t help but come up behind her, her head perched on Penelope’s shoulder as her arms wrap around her middle, fingertips grazing under the material of her tank top and wandering south to the waistband of her sweatpants. 

“Mmm, someone woke up on the horny side of the bed this morning,” Penelope laughs, tilting her head to the side to give Lizzie more real estate on her neck to explore. Lizzie says nothing, dotting kisses up and down Penelope’s neck. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think I promised you burnt food.” 

“I think it could be worth it,” Lizzie replies, licking along Penelope’s earlobe before grabbing the cartilage with her teeth.

Penelope spins around, backing Lizzie into one of the bar stools. “Sit down and let me make you breakfast.”

“Who knew you could be so domestic,” the blonde observes, but she sits just the same, pulling one of her knees up to her chest so that she could rest her head on it and ogle Penelope. 

“Yeah?” Penelope teases, as she flips a crêpe out of the pan and onto a plate, grabbing a bowl of sliced strawberries to place before Lizzie. “Is it doing it for you?” Her voice is pure sex, even if Lizzie knows that sarcasm is dripping from her words. The sad thing is, it’s _definitely_ doing things to Lizzie. 

She sees flashes of a life where this is their normal, not just a moment that feels too good to be true. Penelope grabs a jar of Nutella and some freshly whipped cream, as well as chocolate sauce and some sliced bananas. 

“Healthy,” Lizzie remarks and Penelope just raises her eyebrow, pouring Lizzie a cup of coffee in a mug that says _bow down, witches_. 

“If you wanted a healthy breakfast, you could go over to the happy couple’s place. I’m sure Hope would try to make you drink a kale, spinach, and radish smoothie and Josie would have found some egg white substitute for an omelet that tastes like feet. By all means…” she gestures to the door, her jaw set. 

Lizzie leans forward, watches Penelope spread the Nutella on her crêpe, dotting it with pieces of banana before she snags a piece of crêpe, stabbing it with her fork and grinning at Penelope. “I’ll stay here for now.” This feels _nice._ The kind of nice that seeps into your bones and makes its home in your heart. It’s comforting and comfortable. 

Lizzie steals another bite of Penelope’s crêpe and the witch pulls her plate away, “Hey! Get your own!” 

“Yeah, but I want yours,” Lizzie teases, smiling behind her mug. 

“We are not that kind of cou— just eat your own, Saltzman,” Penelope growls, but she’s laughing and shaking her head, mumbling something about difficult women under her breath. 

Penelope tries to steal some crêpe back from her plate in revenge, but Lizzie blocks her with her fork. The crêpes are delicious, sinfully sweet, and she’s definitely not sharing and everything about this morning feels amazing. 

“I have an idea,” Penelope says cryptically, after loading the dishes and pan from breakfast into the dishwasher. She leans back against her kitchen counter. The dishwasher begins with a series of beeps. 

“That sounds ominous,” Lizzie jokes, wiping at her mouth with a napkin. 

Penelope has her arms crossed over her chest, eyes downcast before she glances back up at Lizzie. “Do you wanna come to the farmer’s market with me? We could stop by your place for a change of clothes, unless you want to dazzle all of Mystic Falls with a walk of shame and then head over...together?” 

If Lizzie had been drinking coffee or any beverage, really, she would have done a spit take. Even now, she barely keeps it together. “I —yes —sure,” she finally settles on. 

They shower and Lizzie keeps her hands to herself, mostly, but you can’t fault a girl when Penelope looks the way she looks in the morning, her hair tousled and her lips kiss-swollen from the night before. Lizzie waits while Penelope gets dressed and does her makeup, settling on a beige jumpsuit with a maroon hat and round sunglasses. She slings a reusable shopping bag over her shoulder when they walk out to the car and Lizzie feels her heart clench, the same way it did last night, watching Penelope move effortlessly to her car. 

It feels like a date, or what dates used to feel like back when Lizzie would go on them. The glances between them, the shared smiles at the song on the radio. It feels more like a date than any date she’s ever been on. There’s a comfort in knowing things about Penelope going into it. She doesn’t have to deal with awkward conversations and questions about Penelope’s exes. She’s _very_ aware of what those questions and answers are. 

Penelope waits in Lizzie’s living room as the blonde throws on a sundress and sandals and she spins as she comes down the hallway, Penelope’s eyes tracking her with a look she can’t decipher. She can’t talk about the feelings swirling in her eyes, in Penelope’s eyes, so she just pulls Penelope to her feet and towards her door. 

“If you drool on my sofa, you’ll have to buy me another. Come on, I’m going to need about a gallon of coffee to get through the next few hours with you,” she jokes, but Penelope says nothing as they leave Lizzie’s apartment, opening her car door with a shy smile before jogging around the car to the driver’s side. Lizzie raises her eyebrow but slips her sunglasses on and fiddles with the radio before Penelope slaps her hands away. 

“I’m radio captain,” she explains.

“No, you’re driving. Eyes on the road, Park. I am the radio captain.” 

“Thank God it’s only a ten-minute drive,” Penelope mumbles, earning a swat from Lizzie. 

The farmer’s market is...well, it's a farmer’s market in Mystic Falls. It’s quaint, overflowing with fresh produce and people hurrying between the stalls. Penelope obviously knows her way around, greeting people by name, chatting with everybody and altogether acting as if being here with Lizzie is the easiest thing in the world.

Which, it is. Penelope grabs her hand a couple of times to point out a florist that she loves that should definitely do the flowers for Hope and Josie’s wedding and reception, and they even find a woman who runs her own catering company that makes exactly the kind of rustic, American comfort food that Hope and Josie were looking for. The caterer even specializes in wedding cakes, not batting an eye when Lizzie mentioned that it would be for two brides. 

Penelope grins at her as they take a sample of cinnamon buns that the woman had made, pushing a piece into Lizzie’s mouth before licking her fingers. Lizzie nearly chokes but she recovers quickly, warmth from the cinnamon bun and Penelope’s attention pooling in her stomach. 

“I think you demanded coffee,” Penelope says, dragging Lizzie away from the woman after they had gotten all of her contact information and business cards, with the promise of a meeting the following week. 

“I definitely did,” Lizzie says and Penelope grabs her hand to hold as they make their way to a stall near the back with a line nearly ten people long. Lizzie wills herself not to read between the lines, to bite back the smile on her face, but even as she tells herself these things, Penelope swings their hands in the air as if they’re ten-years-old holding hands for the first time. “It’s worth it, I swear,” she says to Lizzie who had opened her mouth to argue. 

“So, you come here often?” 

“On occasion,” Penelope says, “most Saturdays. Sometimes Sundays.”

“The enigmatic and mysterious Penelope Park spends her Saturdays mornings at a farmer’s market?” Lizzie questions, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And to think, here I thought you didn’t stumble out of bed until noon, sleeping off your hangovers.” 

“If you want to know more, all you’ve got to do is ask, Saltzman,” Penelope says, and before Lizzie can reply — not that she would know what to say at all from this revelation — they’ve reached the front of the line. 

“Hey Ted, can I get two of the dirty chais with vanilla?” She asks the goateed man behind the counter, sleeves of tattoos adorning his arms and creeping up his neck. “Don’t give me that look — you’ll like it.” Lizzie closes her mouth, again, butterflies swirling in her stomach because this side of Penelope — collected, cool, and bubbly was magnetic, drawing Lizzie in even deeper when she knew she was already swimming against the current of a thousand unnamed feelings. 

Penelope pays, because, of course, she does. And Lizzie lets her lead them around the market, grabbing fruits and vegetables and a bouquet of spring flowers that she makes Lizzie carry. Penelope talks Lizzie into four extremely overpriced bowls that would “go perfectly” in her kitchen, whatever the hell that means. But the smile on Penelope’s face is totally, definitely worth it. 

Bags full, they walk back to Penelope’s car as the market starts to close up and before they round the last street corner, Penelope pulls Lizzie into her, backing her up against a wall and grabbing at her neck to pull her in for a kiss. Lizzie melts into the feeling, arms flinging around Penelope’s neck, nearly knocking Penelope’s floppy hat off of her head in her haste because _finally._

“What was that for?” Lizzie exhales, clearing her throat when Penelope pulls away (not before chasing her lips to capture them in another languid kiss, tasting chai and vanilla and hints in coffee). 

“You just looked so — sorry, it won’t happen again,” Penelope replies, but Lizzie just bites her lower lip, muttering, “come here” under her breath as she brings their lips together once more. 

“Anyway,” Lizzie says, pushing Penelope off of her after they had been kissing for what felt like hours but could have only been a minute or two. “I’m hungry,” she states, licking her lips and wiggling her eyebrows at Penelope. 

“Lucky for you there’s a tapas bar down the street from here,” Penelope says, running a hand through her hair before putting her hat back on straight. 

“Are you secretly a foodie? Is that why you’re all about farmer’s markets and fresh fruits?” 

“You’ve caught me, Lizzie. You’ve figured it all out.” 

“I knew it,” Lizzie says triumphantly. She lets Penelope grab her hand and lead her toward the restaurant. She seems to be doing a lot of that today — letting Penelope lead her all over town. She’s not complaining in the slightest. 

They grab a table on the patio, which is best for people watching, as Penelope argues, pulling out Lizzie’s chair for her with a terrible wink. She proceeds to play a game, her face lit up in the afternoon sunlight, trying to figure out the life stories of the people passing them by on the street. One woman totally was an undercover spy. Another guy was secretly a bank robber. 

Lizzie swears she sees Hope and Josie ducking into a restaurant just down from them, feels her mouth go dry and her stomach drops because she couldn’t really explain away this meeting with Penelope. Well, maybe she could, they did have the bachelorette party to plan. 

She could also just tell them. Well, tell Josie. She’s pretty certain, especially after last night, that Hope has firm suspicions at least. But there’s not really a greeting card or how-to for _Hi sis, I’m sleeping with your ex and I don’t know how I feel about it and I don’t know what it means but I think it’s a good thing._

Josie would be okay, she thinks, about the Penelope part of it all. Eventually. Maybe. But Lizzie doesn’t even know what this is anymore, what she wants it to be, what Penelope wants it to be. 

Next to her, Penelope’s still passing judgment on the people hurrying by, but it lacks all of the caustic teasing and snobbishness that she had when they were younger. She seems more mature now, softer. Penelope always seemed the type to lash out like an animal when wounded, but this Penelope who chats and befriends strangers, who languishes over the best raspberries to pick, who shares her tapas by pushing them into her mouth is a revelation. 

Lizzie isn’t sure how the rest of the day is spent — they finish up lunch and wander around Mystic Fall’s abysmal downtown center, stopping by the animal shelter to play with some puppies and kittens up for adoption. Lizzie has to tear Penelope away from a small black labrador that she says was “calling her name” with his big puppy-dog eyes. 

More food is eaten — this time at a small Thai place called Thai-phoon. Penelope refuses to share her padang curry, but Lizzie is finally able to coax a bite out of her when she slips her sandal off, running her bare foot up Penelope’s calf, nearly making the witch drop her chopsticks. 

It’s — it’s the best day she’s had in a long time. They talk about work (Penelope jokes that she will be the CEO in ten years but Lizzie thinks it’s more like five and Lizzie tells Penelope about what it feels like to be working at the school under her mom as Headmistress) and farmer’s markets and the wedding and Penelope promises to make her dinner sometime in the future, and by the time they get back to Lizzie’s apartment, the sun has long gone down and she feels lighter than she has in days. 

Penelope surprises her (has been a surprise all day, really) and presses her against the door of her apartment and kisses her. Like _really_ kisses her. Like, a swoon-worthy Hollywood-style kiss that takes Lizzie’s breath away and makes her really glad that she had grabbed a peppermint as they were leaving the restaurant. Even so, Penelope tastes like the mango cocktail she had with dinner and Lizzie feels dizzy and breathless, chasing after Penelope’s lips and biting on her lower lip with a moan. 

“Goodnight, Lizzie,” Penelope breathes as they break apart, a hand reaching up to tuck a stray blonde curl behind her ear with such care that Lizzie wants to moan at the feeling. Again. 

“You aren’t going to —” Lizzie motions to the closed door behind her and Penelope just shakes her head minutely, pupils dancing between Lizzie’s eyes and her lips. 

“Two nights in a row? You’d think this was turning into a habit, Saltzman,” Penelope whispers, but she holds her breath and Lizzie can’t help herself as she blurts out — 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Shit, she shouldn’t have said that, but Penelope's standing before her barely moving, swallowing deeply. 

“Absolutely not,” Penelope replies, and her voice sounds throaty and raw, barely above a whisper. Her hands reach up to cup Lizzie’s face, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. “Goodnight, Lizzie,” she repeats, and Lizzie watches her walk down the hallway, still leaning against the door. If she raises her hand to her lips, tracing where Penelope had kissed her, that’s her business and only her business. 

She stumbles inside minutes or seconds later, dropping her bag to the ground. 

Did she just go on a date with Penelope Park?


	5. Chapter 5

She holds out until Tuesday afternoon. She calls out of work on Monday, spending the day cleaning her apartment from top to bottom, finally gives in and just clears out a drawer for all the stuff Penelope has amassed here, calls her mom, ignores Josie’s probing questions about what the catering emergency was all about, researches bachelorette party locations, places the totally overpriced bowls into her kitchen and rearranges them four times, doesn’t call her Dad, doesn’t think about whether yesterday was a date or not and barely manages to distract herself. 

By five in the afternoon on Tuesday, after a workday in which she barely can recall how she made it through, even after a lunch with Caroline who wanted to talk about flower arrangements, she decides that she doesn’t really care about whatever Sunday was, but that she’s starving. 

_You promised to make me dinner,_ she types, and hits send before she can regret it. 

She stares at her phone for two minutes before it finally lights up. _I can be at your place at eight?_

Penelope shows up at eight on the dot and Lizzie really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s carrying multiple shopping bags and breezes into the apartment like she owns the place, demanding pots and pans and enlisting Lizzie as her sous chef, complete with an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” Which she does, once her arms are free of the groceries, her blazer tossed over the back of one of the barstools, pulling Lizzie by her waist towards her. Penelope is still in her heels from the workday, giving her a bit of help in the height category and Lizzie tries not to sigh loudly when she feels Penelope’s hands on her because it felt remarkably like Penelope was coming home, to _their_ home, after a long day of work and this was something they did all the time. 

If only that were true. 

Her arms snake around Penelope’s neck before she clutches the witch by the face with her hands, her thumbs light on Penelope’s cheek in a kiss that starts chaste but turns decidedly less so. Lizzie had missed Penelope, which was stupid, she saw her no more than a day ago, but that was beside the point. “Hi,” Penelope smiles, touching a hand to her lower lip because Lizzie had definitely messed up her lipstick. She may or may not have been aiming to do just that. 

“Hey yourself,” Lizzie replies, nearly stumbling backward from the kiss. “Are you gonna cook in a pencil skirt and blouse?” she asks, eyeing Penelope’s outfit. 

“I was thinking I could cook naked,” she teases, fingers moving to the top button of her blouse. Lizzie’s eyes are laser-focused at the sight and Penelope carefully unbuttons two buttons with her eyes firmly on Lizzie, revealing a white lace bra under her blouse. Her fingers deftly move to undo three more while Lizzie stares. “Any arguments?”

“How about you go into my bedroom and look in the dresser for something to wear?” Lizzie croaks, her chest heaving, her hands in fists because her feelings are already so fucking intense again, and she’s very, very tempted to go join a laughing Penelope in the bedroom. 

They can have dinner later. Or never. 

“You better be wearing that apron when I get back!” Penelope yells from Lizzie’s room down the hallway and Lizzie groans before grabbing the apron. She refuses to wear it though. Nope, not happening. Penelope returns a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and an old Salvatore sweater, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and shoving the sleeves higher up on her arms as she joins Lizzie. 

“Should we talk about the drawer-sized elephant in the room?” she teases, stealing a sip from Lizzie’s wineglass before standing before Lizzie where she sits on one of the barstools. She leans forward, her arms bracketing Lizzie on either side. 

“That would be a fairly small elephant,” Lizzie replies with a shrug. 

“Still an elephant. Still very much in the room.” 

“So, you didn’t want a drawer…?” Lizzie scoots her chair closer, hands that had been sitting in her lap playing with the hem of Penelope’s sweatshirt. She instinctively knows that if she reaches up under the shirt, she’ll find warm, bare skin. The thought distracts her from the conversation at hand, but perhaps that’s for the better. 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” Lizzie says, “then make me dinner or I’ll take your elephant-sized drawer back.” Her fingers ghost over Penelope’s stomach lightly. 

“I seem to recall underwear being in my drawer the last time I was here,” Penelope says, exhaling sharply at Lizzie’s touch. 

“I got rid of all my underwear,” Lizzie bites back and Penelope’s eyes widen imperceptibly before she narrows them. 

“Liar.” 

“Feel free to check,” Lizzie teases and Penelope’s hands drop to Lizzie’s waistband, ducking underneath the material of her sweatpants (Penelope’s sweatpants), feeling for the lace panties Lizzie always seemed to wear. She finds nothing, biting her lower lip as she leans into Lizzie. 

“Do I _really_ have to cook you dinner? You could just eat me instead?” 

“Mmm, as tempting as that would be,” Lizzie begins, head blissfully filled with all sorts of compromising positions she could get Penelope into, especially in the kitchen, she continues, “you promised.” 

“Fine,” Penelope sighs dramatically, “we better get to chopping, then. And I thought I said to put the apron on.”

“I’ll put the apron on once you tell me what we’re having,” Lizzie says, hopping out of the barstool and following Penelope to the pile of grocery bags. 

“So homemade pasta might be a little too advanced for you,” Penelope begins, barely able to hide the smirk on her face as Lizzie tries to nudge her with her hip in retaliation for her comment, “so, I went out and got some fresh pasta and I was thinking we could have spaghetti carbonara. You don’t have any allergies, right?” 

“I’m allergic to your bullshit,” is the response she gets. Sighing loudly, Penelope grabs the spaghetti, bacon, onion, eggs, and a clove of garlic from her bag. She hands a bottle of chilled white wine to Lizzie with the directions — “Open this and pour us a glass. It’s not great wine, but it will do the job for us and for the meal.” 

Lizzie starts opening the wine while Penelope searches through her drawers for a knife, finally coming up victorious. “You really need more kitchen utensils.”

“Takeout exists for a reason, Park.” She pours a glass for Penelope and refills her own, before sitting down atop the counter and holding out the wineglass. Penelope steps between her legs to reach for it. 

“Are you going to help or are you just going to sit here looking pretty?” Something in Lizzie’s stomach somersaults at Penelope calling her pretty. 

“Did I not pay for dinner and a show? I want my refund.” 

Penelope leans up and kisses her, slow and languid and it wipes the smile off of Lizzie’s face and replaces it with a surprised expression. Because they’ve always kissed and Penelope’s a fantastic kisser. But these small kisses — the kiss hello or the kiss just now that speak to intimacy and comfort and not at all just fucking each other for fun make Lizzie absolutely and totally breathless. “I’ll give you a show later,” she winks, poorly. “Now, get down from there and help.”

“You better make it worth my while,” Lizzie grumbles, but drops to the floor with a sigh. 

“Don’t I always?”

Penelope’s a good cook, Lizzie guesses, from the way she moves confidently through the kitchen, directing Lizzie to cut the bacon while she chops the vegetables.

The moments that linger are this: Lizzie attempts stirring once Penelope tosses the spaghetti into the pan and cracks in the eggs. And apparently, she’s done it all wrong because she feels a warmth behind her, arms circling around her middle and a chin attempting to prop on her shoulder, whispered words in her ear about how she should stir in slow, wide circles. How she should know _exactly_ how to do those slow, wide circles. Lizzie thinks they might not be talking about food or stirring sauce any longer as warm breath is exhaled against her ear and she closes her eyes, backing herself up into Penelope’s front. 

They stay like that for a while, a tinny sound of jazz music coming from Penelope’s phone that Lizzie hadn’t even realized was playing. She feels Penelope start to move her hips back and forth and she mirrors the movement. They sway and stir as Ella Fitzgerald sings about witchcraft and Lizzie thinks that she really doesn’t have any defenses against Penelope any longer. (She hasn’t for a while.) 

The spaghetti carbonara’s amazing, delicious, and just on the right side of indulgent that Lizzie doesn’t stop herself from moaning after the first bite she takes. “Yeah?” Penelope asks her, stealing a kiss as she sits down to the table with a plate for herself. 

“Yes, oh my god, how did you ever —?”

“Anyone can cook, Lizzie. And I may or may not have spent some time in Italy when I was in Belgium.”

Penelope surprises her after dinner with cannoli, grabbing Lizzie’s face and placing a bite inside before following with her lips. Lizzie tastes sugar and chocolate, the ricotta and cinnamon dancing on her taste buds. She tastes Penelope too and it’s a flavor that’s almost synonymous with comfort now. 

Lizzie doesn’t think she can ever go back to what they were before — the weekly fucks that ended when Penelope put her clothes on and shut the door behind her or when she would escape under the cover of darkness. She thinks it might break her. 

She thinks a lot about grabbing what she wants, taking what’s offered to her, and about how she never thought she would ever be free to _want_ someone as viscerally as she wants Penelope Park. She thinks a lot about falling in love, how she’s already in so deep, how it happened gradually and then all at once, like sticking a toe in to test the water and then diving into the deep end, the cold water a shock to the system at first and then comfortable the longer time passed.

But she isn’t shocked, not really. Caring about Penelope feels as true to her as magic — something innate that lives inside of her, nestled against her heart.

She’s terrified though — terrified that if she acknowledges it, puts to words the things she knows with glances and touches, that it will all be stolen from her. Fate's never been her friend. So she waits, says nothing, accepts the touches and glances and hopes and hopes and hopes that one day, she might be brave enough to say _I’m yours._

Lucky for her, Penelope seems to have absolutely no intention of leaving when she’s done having her way with Lizzie following dinner. Or the night after. Or the night after that.

* * *

A month later (after far too many sleepovers, meals cooked together, and weekends spent at the farmer’s market) Hope and Josie join Lizzie and Penelope at the house of the woman from the farmer’s market for a cake tasting. Olivia is thrilled to see Penelope and Lizzie again (mostly Penelope) and it’s almost painful the way Hope and Josie stare at them, open-mouthed when they tell the story of how they found her. 

“You? At a farmer’s market?” Josie asks and Lizzie just shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“We were doing recon,” she replies as breezily as she can. She’s really getting worse and worse at lying. 

“And they’re just the cutest couple, aren’t they? I mean, y’all are adorable as well! But imagine their babies!” Penelope and Lizzie open their mouths to protest the characterization, but Olivia just shuffles the group into her kitchen where the table is laden with six different types of cakes to sample. 

“Couple?” Hope whispers to Lizzie behind Josie’s back and Lizzie just grits her teeth before whispering, “Don’t you dare make me tell Josie about the time when you ‘accidentally’ destroyed her favorite sweater in the wash because I will, Mikaelson.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Hope sighs. “But you should talk to your sister, Lizzie.”

“Shut up and eat your cake, Mikaelson.”

Olivia is absolutely delightful. So is the cake. So is Penelope’s hand tracing patterns on her thigh under the table. 

Hope and Josie opt for an almond flour cake with cream cheese frosting decorated with a cascade of dried flowers down the sides. It’s not as boring as Lizzie would have guessed, and will actually look quite nice with the flowers and table settings that Penelope and Lizzie have picked out. With any luck and adding in Olivia’s cooking and Penelope and Lizzie’s guiding hands, this wedding might not be a total train wreck. 

Olivia convinces them to come over the next week to try the tasting menu she has ready for the reception and as Lizzie ducks into Penelope’s car after Hope and Josie drive away, Penelope pulls her in for a kiss that she definitely wasn’t expecting.

“Imagine the babies!” she teases as they pull apart. 

“You’re insufferable,” Lizzie exhales, nearly unable to hide her smile. 

“You love it.” 

Yes, yes she does. That was the whole problem. 

“So I was thinking Chinese takeout at my place?” Penelope asks as she pulls away from the curb, eyebrows wiggling. Lizzie turns to glance out the window, smiling into her hand. 

She’s so in love with this girl it’s almost painful.

* * *

Hope and Josie opt for an early September wedding, which Lizzie takes in stride. June turns into a hot and humid July which slowly slides into an even hotter and more humid August and things with Penelope seem to have become routine. Lizzie finds herself at Penelope’s apartment a few nights out of the week, splitting time between her lesson plans for the upcoming semester and seating plans for the wedding, and on some nights, the pair hole up in Lizzie’s apartment when summer storms threaten to flood Penelope’s first-floor apartment. Lizzie never complains, especially when Penelope shows up at her doorstep soaking wet and demanding a long, long shower. 

(Lizzie thinks she likes the nights the best, the thunder and lightning punctuating every moan and whimper.) 

Some nights, when it's too quiet and the air is too hot, she dreams about a different world, about a different twenty-second birthday, about a universe where she might be a killer or a victim. Penelope never says anything when Lizzie wakes up with a scream on her lips, just wraps her into a tight embrace and Lizzie feels the nightmares subside. 

Two weeks before the bachelorette party, Penelope persuades Lizzie to accompany her to her family’s cabin in the Shenandoah Valley. She tells Lizzie one night that she deserves some time off from planning everything, to which Lizzie replies that she’s been off work for two months and that the wedding is basically her job now. 

“Exactly,” Penelope smiles, lips ghosting over Lizzie’s neck because all negotiations with Lizzie were better made in bed and with one’s hands and lips. “I’m thinking about offering it up to the happy couple as a gift from me. You know, a mini honeymoon after the honeymoon. We can test out the bed?” Penelope raises her head, making eye contact with Lizzie who lay on her back, her hand moving down and over Penelope’s shoulder blades as the witch kissed her neck. 

Lizzie was always going to say yes, obviously. She’s not stupid enough to turn an offer like this down. But she can still enjoy the tactics Penelope employs to see how quickly Lizzie acquiesces. 

“Gross, the last thing I want to think about is them having sex.” 

“So think about us having sex all — over — the — cabin,” she punctuates each word with a kiss and a bite to Lizzie’s pulse point. 

Lizzie lets out an embarrassingly loud moan before focusing back on the topic at hand. More or less. “Are you going to cook?”

Penelope laughs, her lips still pressed against Lizzie’s skin. “So that’s the way to—” she interrupts herself, “sure, darling.”

Lizzie lets the term of endearment pass without any comment, forgetting about it after Penelope starts whispering in her ear about how she plans to pack nothing but a small black negligee. They do both end up packing more than that, and with two sets of luggage as well as the fact that Penelope seems to have brought enough cooking supplies to feed a dozen people, it’s quite a squeeze. Lizzie mumbles the word _women_ under her breath as Penelope shoves her luggage into the trunk of her car, but Penelope silences her with a _hush_ and a kiss to her lips. 

They manage to fit it all (somehow) and come Friday night, Lizzie finds herself driving out of town with Penelope by her side. Penelope declares that she’s radio captain and Lizzie is all too happy to oblige as Penelope kicks her feet up on the dashboard, scrolling through her phone, her sunglasses perched atop her head. 

“I made us a playlist,” she tells Lizzie, but reveals nothing else and soon enough, Maggie Rogers’ voice fills the car and Penelope laces her fingers with Lizzie’s and pulls her hand toward her lap. 

“Can you keep focused on the road?” she asks, her free hand stroking on the inside of Lizzie’s wrist, making patterns with her fingertips. 

“Not if you keep touching me like that,” Lizzie grins but Penelope doesn’t relent, doesn’t let go and Lizzie grips the steering wheel with her left hand and prays for traffic to slow them down, to keep them in the car longer. 

The drive is well over two hours, and by the time they finally make it to the secluded cabin, Penelope’s lingering touches, persistent throughout the whole drive, have distracted her more than a little bit. Penelope knows it too, from the way she smirks when Lizzie pulls her into a kiss as soon as she’s standing in the driveway. 

“I could have crashed,” Lizzie says, her lips trailing from Penelope’s across her cheek and biting at her earlobe, her hands running up and down Penelope’s back. 

“But you didn’t. I had all the faith in you,” she exhales, grabbing the back of Lizzie’s head to angle Lizzie’s lips towards hers. 

“Even on the winding roads?” Lizzie teases, yanking Penelope’s lower lip with her teeth. 

“Ah — even on the winding roads. Come on,” Penelope tugs her toward the front door, unlocking it with a key that was hidden in a small garden gnome sitting on the front steps to the cabin. 

“Secure,” Lizzie says dryly. 

“The nearest neighbor is a quarter of a mile away. We’re witches, we have magic. We can protect ourselves. And...we can be as loud as we want.” Penelope licks her lips, pushing open the door. Lizzie rushes toward her, picking her up in her arms and spinning her toward the nearest wall, her lips already on Penelope’s. 

It’s another hour before they unpack the car. The pair barely make it to the living room, tearing at each other’s clothes, pausing on the rug in front of the fire where Lizzie buries her head between Penelope’s legs. They somehow transition to the couch and Penelope straddles Lizzie as she pushes two fingers inside of her, Lizzie’s back arching off of the worn leather sofa. Lizzie thinks she could get used to roughin’ it, especially if Penelope walks around in just an oversized flannel top for the entire weekend, a mischievous look in her eyes.

There’s something wonderful about being this far away from the rest of the world, like all the worries and concerns and every single self-doubt are silenced. And even the nagging little voice in the back of her head that is so sure that Penelope would never want this for real, want her for real, is a little bit quieter. 

Penelope makes them bolognese and Lizzie’s put to work making the sauce while Penelope places a baguette coated in butter and garlic in the oven and tosses a salad. They split a bottle of red wine, eating dinner by candlelight in front of the fire. Penelope gives Lizzie a tour of the cabin after dinner, the wine making her movements languid as she grips Lizzie’s hand, telling her about the time she fell off the bunk bed that she shared with her little sister, showing her the wall with all of their heights scribbled on the paint, four lines slowly moving upward as they grew, pausing at the attic that they had deemed to be haunted. 

Penelope shares so much about her life, whispered words that she’s kept bottled up and hidden for years. Maybe all Lizzie had to do was ask. Maybe Penelope trusted her enough to know about who she was, where she came from. 

It’s an intoxicating thought. 

Penelope wakes her up early (far too early), just after sunrise, kissing under her ear and they shower together before throwing on hiking boots and t-shirts, coating themselves liberally with bug spray and sunscreen. Lizzie thinks that this is what love must be — braving mosquitos and sunburns as Penelope practically pulls her up the hiking trail, telling her the views at the top of Old Rag are the best around. Lizzie nearly kills herself on the scramble, but Penelope forges ahead, reaching down to give Lizzie a hand as Lizzie complains about the “death march” that Penelope has sent them on. The witch just shakes her head with a grin, as if she guessed Lizzie’s complaints and knew they would be coming. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” she tells Lizzie after she informs her that they’re about half an hour away from the summit. 

They make it to the top just before noon and Lizzie feels her shirt sticking to her back. Penelope, with a bandana tied around her neck, hiking boots with plaid socks and a backpack filled with lunch, is absolutely adorable, even after a four-hour hike. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s glowing in the sunlight. Lizzie kisses her as they stand at the top, tasting salt and Penelope’s mint chapstick. Penelope’s right — the view is absolutely stunning. The view and Penelope’s lips against hers almost, almost make up for that hellish hike. 

The hike back down is almost even worse than the trek up and Lizzie is about ready to collapse on the trail when the final marker comes into view. Penelope laughs heartily as if the past eight hours were just a walk in the park. 

“Remind me to never let you wake me up at sunrise ever again,” she grumbles, pulling the pack off of her back when they make it to the cabin, collapsing on the porch. 

“Are you sure? It doesn’t always have to be for a hike...” 

“Oh yeah?” Lizzie grins, despite herself and Penelope sits behind her, massaging her aching shoulders and neck before she wraps her arms and legs around Lizzie’s waist. 

“Yeah, it could be for yoga or —” 

“Sex. I’m only getting up early with you for sex.” Penelope presses a kiss to the back of her neck, her fingers sliding across Lizzie’s waist, pushing her shirt out of the way. 

"You know, I can make it worth your while. I'm very persuasive," she kisses Lizzie's neck again, "but you’re right, I promised to make it up to you. Want to cash in on it now?” she offers. 

Lizzie turns her head to kiss her, properly. “Absolutely yes. I don’t climb mountains for just anyone.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Penelope remarks as Lizzie kisses her cheek after they pull apart. 

“You know there aren’t any other girls.” And she means it. She wills the words to speak the truths she can’t voice out loud just yet. To convey it all, every emotion, every touch, every lingering glance in seven simple words, one tiny sentence. 

“I still like hearing you say it,” Penelope whispers against her neck and Lizzie feels more thrilled than she’d like to admit. Maybe she isn’t totally alone in this.

She stays calm. Relatively, even as desire and something else float into her stomach. “Are you using me to feed your ego?” 

Penelope laughs. “Totally. That’s why I’ve kept you around all these years.” 

They shower and nap following the hike and while Lizzie protests exhaustion after they wake up, one look from Penelope has her pulling the witch up and over her to straddle her face. Penelope’s hands grip onto the rickety iron bed frame as Lizzie plunges her tongue inside of her, followed by a finger, then another. Penelope moans her name when she comes and Lizzie loves that, loves the way Penelope never looks away from her, eyes heavy-lidded as she glances down. 

Penelope makes her dinner and fucks her on the rug in front of the fireplace (Lizzie may or may not get rug burn), the flames burning and the wood crackling in the background, and they fall asleep wrapped in each other and an old plaid blanket. Sunday morning comes far too quickly and Lizzie nuzzles deeper into Penelope. “Let’s just stay here.”

“We have to drive back tonight,” Penelope says, her eyes closed, a delightful rasp in her voice. 

“Tonight isn’t now.” Lizzie runs her fingers over Penelope’s stomach. 

“Mmm, how about I make you some pancakes and we can stay in bed all day? You deserve it after putting up with my adventure yesterday.” Yes, Lizzie totally deserved it. That hike was the worst. Well, not really the _worst_ , but she wasn’t going to admit that anytime soon. 

It’s the kind of perfect day Lizzie could end up getting used to — lazing around all morning, devouring the pancakes Penelope made her, devouring Penelope right after, and she’s more than a little perturbed when they have to leave. 

“We’re coming back here,” she declares, after they load up Lizzie’s car with their luggage. Penelope chuckles beside her as she climbs into the passenger seat. 

“Are you going to come hike with me again, then?” Penelope reaches for her seatbelt, biting her lip. 

“Maybe. I’m not sure Josie and Hope deserve this place as a gift though. I mean, we fucked all over it.” 

“There are things called maids, my darling.” That’s two terms of endearment this weekend, not that Lizzie was counting or anything. “And it’s a nice gesture for them. We can give it to them together since you feel so protective about it?” 

“A joint gift?” Lizzie turns out onto the highway, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m only saying yes because I haven’t gotten them anything. Really, they should be giving _us_ gifts.” 

“You’re so full of shit sometimes,” the laughter that breaks out Penelope’s lips causes Lizzie to smile, glancing over at Penelope. 

“You love it,” comes Lizzie’s reply before she can stop herself. Penelope says nothing, sighing loudly as she grabs Lizzie’s hand, just like she did on the drive to the cabin, threading their fingers together. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” she remarks quietly, playing with Lizzie’s fingers. Lizzie grins, glancing over again and watching the lights from the cars ahead of them reflecting in Penelope’s emerald eyes. She can’t help the smile that overtakes her lips once again, or the intense feeling of happiness that bursts in her chest as she looks at the girl across from her. 

“Thank you for inviting me. I wouldn’t — mmm, I wouldn’t have wanted you to share that with anyone else.” Lizzie looks away then as she says those words, focusing her eyes on the road. Penelope inhales sharply, nodding her head and touching a finger to her lips in thought. 

They should talk. Lizzie knows that. But whatever this is between them, it feels so fragile, so precious — and Lizzie’s always been so very good at breaking things, including herself. 

As it turns out, not talking doesn’t make much of a difference. They drive back to Mystic Falls and Penelope stays the night and Lizzie wakes up to a kiss to her temple and the sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window and maybe delaying the inevitable is easier if she can keep having mornings like this. 

It all goes to shit at the bachelorette party, anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

It starts off fine. Perfect even. Hope and Josie never wanted anything too over-the-top and Lizzie had found an upscale bar tucked away in a corner of Mystic Falls that had great wine and food. She’d even crafted a signature cocktail for Hope and Josie (with help from Penelope that came in the form of a night of feeding each other different drinks and falling asleep on Lizzie’s balcony hammock. The hangover was worth it, especially after Penelope started singing Taylor Swift at the top of her lungs by the sixth drink.) 

And Lizzie had actually been having a good time. Josie could have done a hell of a lot worse than Hope and they had been together for so long that it was amazing that they were actually finally getting married. Penelope and Lizzie had shown up to the restaurant together early, to make sure that everything was set up in the private dining room that they had booked, complete with their own private bartender. She shouldn’t have worried — the place looked great. And the tiny make out session she had with Penelope in the bathroom hadn’t hurt either. 

Everything had been great. 

Maybe if teaching didn’t work out for her, party planning could be her next career move. 

It was torture, if she was being honest, watching Penelope move around in a red dress that seemed to fit on her like a second skin, but the drinks were keeping her hands full. There was a group of about ten of them and somehow after the first restaurant, the decision had been made to go to the bar down the street that was louder, a bit dirtier, and a bit seedier. Definitely not up to Lizzie’s standards for the night, but the dance floor was apparently calling Josie’s name, as she drunkenly declared, coughing into her drink and no one had the heart to argue with her. 

Penelope grabs her hand on the walk over, making sure no one sees them and pulls her down a sidestreet to give Lizzie a swift kiss that nearly makes her stumble. It’s harsh and unforgiving and so so so possessive and Lizzie feels like she’s about ten times more drunk than she really is when Penelope pulls away. Penelope’s always had that effect on her. 

“Hi. You in all of these tiny dresses lately has just been — fuck,” her eyes roam up and down Lizzie’s body unabashedly, hands stroking over Lizzie’s collarbones.

“You didn’t say anything earlier,” Lizzie replies, her cheeks warm. 

“You couldn’t tell?” Penelope reaches for her face again, pulling her towards her for another kiss. 

“Yeah, you’re always just so — you feel so impenetrable sometimes. Unreachable. Like nothing affects you.” 

“You in that dress affects me, Lizzie. Think they’ve noticed we’re not with the group?” Penelope’s pupils are wide — from the drinks or Lizzie, she isn’t sure. But as Penelope pulls her back out toward the main street with a smirk on her face, light touches to her fingers as they walk, Lizzie wonders if maybe she isn’t the only one affected by more than just a pretty girl in a dress. 

She has to remind herself not to linger near Penelope when they enter. Josie calls them over loudly, her arms waving in the air and she already has a drink in hand and shoves two shots that are rainbow-colored toward Penelope and Lizzie. Winking at Penelope, Lizzie knocks back the shot and it’s sweet, far too sweet. Thankfully, Penelope seems to be having the same reaction because she sticks her tongue out and it’s bright blue before she turns to the bar and orders two old fashioneds, passing one wordlessly to Lizzie. 

It’s nice, she thinks, the way Penelope gets her. There’s something about it that makes her heart beat faster every time. Josie pulls Hope onto the dance floor and Penelope turns to Lizzie. “Come on. We can’t let them have all the fun.”

The lights in the bar are flashing red and blue and all Lizzie can see is Penelope in front of her, her body flush with her own. Penelope twists and her back is on Lizzie’s front and Lizzie can’t help the way her hands wander to Penelope’s hips and down her dress, tugging and pulling at the material. She breathes into Penelope’s ear, her lips ghosting over her earlobes and Penelope’s hand that is grasping her neck scratches down. 

Lizzie doesn’t remember leaving the dancefloor, doesn’t remember stumbling with Penelope toward the bathroom as they tangle in each other, the drinks and the euphoria from the music and the atmosphere making Lizzie forget herself, forget who they are with. She remembers flashes of a locked door, hands all over her body, lips kissing down her neck and chest, but it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough and Lizzie thinks they should call a cab because she’s this close to bending Penelope over the bathroom sink and that’s either the best or worst idea she’s had in a long time. Maybe both. They stumble out of the bathroom, and fuck, they’re definitely getting out of here, Lizzie decides. 

Josie spots them near the bathroom when Penelope has a hand to Lizzie’s lip, fixing the lipstick she had thoroughly smudged just seconds before. Lizzie’s hair is messed up and definitely not in a natural sort of way. Definitely in a way that suggests that Penelope had just run her hands up and down her scalp. Fuck. And her dress might also be a bit crooked. She thoroughly blames Penelope for that. 

The way Josie walks towards them — it’s too slow, too measured and Lizzie knows that Josie’s about eight drinks in and probably won’t remember it in the morning, but as Lizzie takes a quick step away from Penelope, she sees a look in Penelope’s eyes that makes her feel guilty. 

“What — what are you two doing?” Josie’s voice is slow, like her steps had been, and Lizzie feels each word in her heart like a bomb going off. Fuck. 

“Josie!” Her voice is too high and too fake and this is so not how this was going to go. “Nothing, Penelope was just—” 

“Are you — are you two — Hope said something about how well you were getting along, but I thought it was just because of planning things with us, but —”

“It’s nothing, Jo. It’s just —” 

“We might have slept together a few times,” Penelope offers and Lizzie turns to her, the betrayal burning hot. Penelope shrugs and keeps her gaze firmly on Josie. 

“Sleeping together?!” 

“Yeah, but it means nothing,” Lizzie says quickly. A lie. “Just like — friends with benefits.” Another lie. Friends with benefits don’t spend days together, cook each other meals, give each other drawers and take weekend trips to mountains to just get away and test out the surprise gift that they had been thinking about for Hope and Josie. A joint gift. Fuck. 

“But you aren’t even friends,” Josie says slowly. “Is this — is this why you don’t have a date yet for the wedding?” 

“You’re dateless? How sad for you,” Penelope inserts and it is _so_ not a helpful comment in the slightest. 

Lizzie growls, running a hand through her hair because this was spiraling from bad to worse and she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince — Josie or herself. She sends Penelope a pleading glance, trying to convey somehow all the things she doesn’t know how to say. “Can you give us a minute?” She nearly says the word _babe_ which would have been foolish and idiotic and way, way too much. 

Penelope’s gaze holds a multitude of emotions Lizzie doesn’t know how to decipher (is terrified to decipher). All the same, she presses a kiss to Lizzie’s cheek, her lips lingering before disappearing down the hallway.

“I’m either really drunk or that didn’t look like a friend with benefits kind of kiss.” 

“You’ve basically been engaged since high school, how would you even know what a friends with benefits kiss looks like?”

Josie raises an eyebrow. “Lizzie,” she prompts.

“Are you mad? I thought you were happy with Hope? This — with Penelope, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” Lizzie’s grasping at straws, her statements coming out mumbled and too fast and she’s really far too drunk for this conversation. 

“Do you want it to mean something?” Yes, yes, of course, she does, but does she want to admit that out loud? Maybe, maybe, between the dinners and the food tasting and the sleepovers, she’s sometimes been tempted to think about something more, but at the same time, it still feels like something firmly out of reach. Like an apparition or an oasis. A glimpse into another life that she isn’t supposed to have. 

“That — that doesn’t matter, Jo.”

“Of course it matters, Lizzie!” Josie’s voice erupts and it’s too loud. “We didn’t — we never talked about anything after — and then this whole wedding thing just took over and—” Josie pauses, leaning against the wall. “You know — you deserve to be happy. And maybe that happiness is with Penelope or —?” 

Lizzie feels her eyes burn with tears and she blinks them away quickly. “It’s not — we’re not — I don’t know, Jo.”

“How long?” Josie asks her. 

Fuck. “Since graduation.” Josie just stares at her and Lizzie’s sure her mouth should be on the floor by now, but she had already dug her own grave. Might as well lay in it. 

“But before you say anything, I haven’t slept with anyone else and I think I'm in love with her, Josie.” Another lie. She knew she was in love with her, but instilling a little bit of doubt was easier than admitting to herself what she had known for months. **“** It wasn’t until our birthday that Hope got in my head and then Freya — and I could finally _want_ someone, Josie.” Lizzie’s voice is pleading and she hates the sound of it. 

Hates how broken she sounds. Hates how it takes her back to their days at school and how she knew she was damaged goods, but for some reason, Penelope had seen through that and stuck around after graduation. Had deemed Lizzie worthy of her attention and dare she hope for her affection? Was Lizzie worth being loved by Penelope? She still wasn’t sure, but it felt _right_ , being with her. Like things were settled and good and she could finally breathe. 

“Life didn’t have an expiration date any longer after our birthday and things just seemed to happen — and she was there all along.” 

“So everyone knew except for me?” Josie raises her voice again, an eyebrow cocked. 

Fuck, this was not going well. “Not by design. Apparently, I’m less than subtle in my longing gazes.” 

“You love her?” 

“Annoyingly, yes,” Lizzie admits, shoulders dropping. Josie’s face softens at the admission, but it takes her a few moments before she speaks. 

The music from the dance floor pounds a beat that Lizzie can feel in her heart. She’s sure she’s shaking.

“You know I don’t — I’m happy with Hope. Really happy. Like stupidly happy. I don’t care if you have feelings for Penelope. But — why didn’t you tell me, Lizzie?”

“I —You were devastated when she left, Josie. And she was your first, and yeah, you love Hope. Anyone with eyes can see that, but there really isn’t a handbook for telling your twin that was probably supposed to absorb all of your soul and powers that you may or may not be falling in love with her ex-girlfriend.” Lizzie laughs but it’s hollow and broken. 

At some point, Hope wanders down the hallway, stopping as she sees Lizzie in tears and Josie with her arms crossed. She wordlessly approaches and takes Josie’s hand before Lizzie continues. 

“I know that everyone at school thought that I sucked the air out every room, Penelope included, but—” Lizzie stops, tears running down her face. “I didn’t want you to think that it was just another me being selfish thing. That I was just going after her because you had dated her. Believe me,” Lizzie laughs, “I really thought I hated her. I think I’ve wanted to hate her this whole time, but she’s just — is it stupid to say she gets me?”

Josie smiles, reaching over to wipe the tears from Lizzie’s face as she pulls her into a hug. “Have you told her any of this?”

“I’m not sure it would change things.” 

“You might be surprised,” Hope inserts, and Josie spins around to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“You’re supposed to tell me things like this, you know. It’s part of the wife-bylaws.”

“We’re not married yet,” Hope winks, but Josie just shakes her head. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute. I’ll deal with you later,” she turns her attention back to Lizzie. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“A thousand things. She says she’s not interested. That it’s just sex to her. She leaves. It’s Penelope, after all.”

“Give her a bit more credit,” Hope interjects and Josie just shakes her head. 

“You’re going to come up with so many excuses, Lizzie, when it’s really just yourself you need to convince. I don’t — I don’t think we should take what life has given us for granted. So, sometimes you just gotta jump. And if it doesn’t work out— well, you have us. ” 

“Yeah, because my dream in life is to constantly be your third wheel.”

Josie and Hope leave her alone in the hallway after that, their words lingering like smoke and Lizzie disappears out a side door of the bar. She finds a curb, perches herself upon it, and lights a cigarette. Penelope finds her when she’s on her third cigarette and Lizzie just looks at her with bloodshot eyes before glancing away as the witch sits down next to her. She nudges Lizzie’s shoulder with her own. 

“You want to get out of here?” Her eyes twinkle in the dim light and Lizzie hangs her head before glancing back up at the sky, running a hand through her hair. 

“What are you doing with me, Penelope?”

“I thought it was obvious.” 

“We’ve slept together a few times. That’s what you said to Josie.”

“Lizzie, come on — that was just —” Penelope’s voice is low, bordering on tender and Lizzie can’t take it. She can’t take the care and sentiment that she knows might be floating in Penelope’s eyes, so she looks anywhere but at her. Anywhere but the one place that might reassure her. 

Something inside of Lizzie snaps then. To hell with it all. She was never meant to have nice things or things that lasted, anyway. 

She was supposed to be in a coffin in the ground at twenty-two, not at a bar with a gorgeous girl celebrating her sister’s wedding to her soulmate that had wandered to hell and back for her. 

(Dead girls don’t have these kinds of stories. Dead girls don’t have stories at all.)

“We don’t talk about things, Penelope! And you just breeze in with your whiskey and your leather jackets and your overpriced dishware and you leave your shit everywhere and you take me to your parent’s cabin and tell me things about your life and it’s — it’s too much and I — I can’t do this anymore.” This, the casual thing. Because it stopped being casual ages ago and Lizzie’s heart feels like it’s being wrung out and the blood rushes to her head, but maybe it was all of the alcohol after all. It couldn’t be the feeling of her heart rending in two because whatever they were had been reduced to _just sleeping together._

“Do what?” Penelope asks, and her hands are clenched in her lap with her knees pulled up and Lizzie can’t glance over at her. Her vision’s swimming as it is and her voice feels like it’s cracked and broken in her throat as she licks her lips to speak, but Penelope beats her to it. 

“Fine, we can _try_ to sneak out and go to your place, but I don’t think that’s what you mean. Do you mean—” The unspoken _us_ hangs in the air. 

Lizzie laughs despite herself. “I can’t keep — I don’t know how — I’m not good at —” _I can't keep falling for you. I don’t know how to stop. I’m not good at relationships. I’m broken. So, so broken and you put me back together somewhere along the way and now I can’t think of a world without you in it._

Penelope’s voice, normally so tempered, sounds more urgent now, her hands reaching towards Lizzie and grasping only air. “What do you _want,_ Lizzie?”

It’s the question she’s been running away from for months, and even now, when she knows the answer, the words still seem incredibly heavy. So, she shoots back with a question of her own. Self-preservation or stupidity, she wasn’t sure. 

“Do you even care? Hasn’t it all been just a game to you?”

Penelope inhales sharply. “If you don’t know the answer to that by now, what are we even doing here?”

Lizzie gets up then, stubbing the cigarette out and crossing her arms over her chest as she stands before Penelope. “I don’t fucking know anymore, Penelope! Enlighten me! Because you clearly have all the answers!” 

Penelope stands at that, taking a step toward Lizzie before the blonde takes two steps back. Penelope’s mask slips and she looks stricken, her eyes narrowed. “You can’t even — You really haven’t been paying enough attention then, Lizzie. I thought — fuck it, nevermind what I thought. I’m sorry for having wasted _so_ _much_ of your time. Give my regards to the happy couple.” 

Lizzie wants to — ask her to stay, beg her not to leave — but she’s not— before she’s even finished half a thought, Penelope has disappeared into the darkness. 

Lizzie leaves the bar after that, texting Josie and Hope before she abandons them and throws herself into a Lyft. She stumbles through her darkened apartment, tearing at her dress and tossing it unceremoniously into her closet before collapsing in a heap on her bed. She lets the tears fall then, and it’s almost cathartic the way she gasps for breaths between sobs and feels all of the anger at herself break free from the small box in her mind that she had created, a wave of emotions cresting over her like a tsunami. 

Because, this is what she deserves, right? What she was waiting for? They finally talked (sort of). Yelled more than talked. And Penelope left. Like Lizzie had told Josie and Hope she would. And maybe it’s better this way. Less complicated. Easier to untangle before Lizzie fell deeper for a Penelope that didn’t want her back, hadn’t wanted her back. 

She’ll be fine, she rationalizes, as she curls deeper into herself on her comforter. Maybe not tomorrow at the wedding (oh, fuck, the wedding), but in the grand scheme of things, she was going to be fine. 

Right?

A key in her front door barely registers as it opens and closes and Lizzie hears the clacking of heels against her hardwood floor before a shaking hand touches her head, smoothing over her hair with the softest caress. She hears her name and the word _sweetheart_ , but it sounds far away, like a radio playing in the distance. Lizzie lifts her head that had been buried in her pillow, tear lines mixed with mascara streaking down her face. Penelope smiles sadly at her, crouched in front of her, her eyes bloodshot and rimmed with tears. 

“Breaking and entering is illegal, you know,” Lizzie says because she can’t say anything else. She can’t, won’t explain why she’s collapsed on her bed in her underwear sobbing over Penelope. It’s probably far too obvious, anyway. 

“Don’t worry, officer, Josie gave me her key,” Penelope replies, standing up to sit on the edge of Lizzie’s bed. She’s still in her dress, her hair falling in curls that Lizzie had run her hands through in the bathroom just a few hours before. Penelope looks tired and yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing that Lizzie has ever seen. 

“I’ll kill her,” Lizzie says, and she can’t even muster the energy to make it sound like she’s anywhere close to meaning it. “Why are you here, Satan?”

“Wow,” Penelope says, stunned, “I’m not sure I deserve that, even from you. But — I’m here because — because I went back inside the bar and your annoying sister and Hope decided to take it upon themselves to offer words of wisdom about our —” Penelope pauses, turning to face Lizzie who had moved to sit next to her, “our relationship and I realized —”

“You realized what?” 

“I realized that I would be an idiot to walk away from you.” 

Lizzie sighs, biting her lip, her hands in her lap and her shoulders hunched because Penelope had done just that, she had walked away. And Lizzie had let her go. Lizzie had poked and prodded and it hadn’t been fair, she knows that. But —

“Hey, look at me,” Penelope says gently, taking Lizzie’s face in her hands and thumbing away tears on her cheeks. Lizzie looks at her, really looks at her then, and sees so much swirling in Penelope’s green eyes. She sees sadness, sorrow, black swirling pools of it, but she sees love and affection that makes her heart ache. Penelope drops her hands to her lap again, but they stay pressed against each other. Lizzie reaches out to lace their fingers together and she knows she should be over it by now, but her stomach swoops low as her skin touches Penelope. She’ll never tire of the feeling.

The silence hits Lizzie like a freight train. 

“What I said earlier to Josie,” Penelope murmurs, head bowed, “it was a poorly-timed nudge for you to actually tell your sister about me — about us. And it wasn’t fair to you in that moment to push you so hard. You know, you haven’t called me Satan in years, Lizzie. At least not to my face.” Penelope glances up at that, eyes softening. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lizzie says defensively, her heartbeat low and dull in her ears. Lizzie feels her face grow hot when her gaze lands back on Penelope, who’s watching her wordlessly. Hope and Freya were right — those assholes — how many times had Lizzie found Penelope watching her? Studying her?

“You know exactly what it means. I knew things were changing for me. I _hoped_ they were changing for you. And then your birthday happened and — you opened up to me and I — I couldn’t think of being here with anyone else.”

“In my bedroom at two in the morning?”

“You really aren’t going to make this easy on me,” Penelope says and then she nearly whispers the next part, her voice low, “I want you, Lizzie,” she clenches and unclenches the hand that Lizzie’s holding, moving her fingers along Lizzie’s. She looks scared as she says it, almost apologetic. As if it were a burden and not the best string of words that Lizzie has ever heard. 

“I’ve wanted you for years. I want all of the moments that we’ve had together and so many more of them. I want to come home to you and fall asleep with you and wake up next to you. It’s never been just a casual thing for me when it came to you. I just — I just thought you didn’t want messy or complicated because there was always so much weighing on you, and I kept pushing off those conversations because I had you and —” Penelope grips Lizzie’s hand even firmer now and this is it — this needs to be where she tells her — Penelope is giving her this option to say what she needs to say, to admit everything, but she can’t. She’s absolutely floored. 

Lizzie feels her whole world shift at Penelope’s words, her brain formulating a thousand thoughts that begin and end with Penelope wanting her back. And she's been so busy not wanting to overwhelm Penelope with her feelings, assuring herself that it was just a natural progression of things because they were planning the wedding and spending so much time together that things will never change, that this was all normal, that it doesn’t dawn on Lizzie that they have been changing — ever since the night of her birthday and probably before that. She’s so busy thinking of Penelope, that it never occurs to her how much Penelope might think of her.

Her chest constricts and her breathing is low and labored as she chokes out, swallowing deeply. “You — you didn’t care to share with the class what was going through your head all these months?” 

“I could say the same to you, darling. But I left you plenty of clues,” Penelope laughs and it’s watery and she sounds like she’s near tears. “I practically moved into your place. We went on dates. I cooked you dinner. I cooked you breakfast. We went away together for the weekend, Lizzie.” Penelope sighs, before bringing her eyes level with Lizzie’s once again. “It wasn’t my fault you weren’t picking up on any of them. How else could I show you that I was falling in love with you?” 

Lizzie feels her vision swim once again and her chest is tight and she’s short of breath but in the best way possible because her brain has broken, short-circuited at the seven words that had just come out of Penelope’s mouth. “You didn’t want to point me in the right direction?” Lizzie’s mouth is dry and her head’s reeling and she’s upset. Mostly at herself. She had wasted _so_ much time. 

But Penelope, her feelings, had been there all along, right? The touches and the tender glances and the moments and the attention all focused on her. Penelope’s gazing at her openly now, mask gone and stripped away and Lizzie realizes that the mask has been for everyone else. It had never been for her. She inhales slowly, deep through her nostrils and out of her mouth. 

“Lizzie, it’s not my job for _you_ to figure _you_ out. I already knew who you were. I was content to just —” Penelope shrugs and Lizzie finally gets it. 

“To wait for me,” she finishes and Penelope nods, biting back a smile. 

“I was happy being with you, no matter what form that may have taken. At the risk of sounding terribly cliche, you’re worth the wait.” Penelope reaches up to rub Lizzie’s cheek again with her free hand and Lizzie leans into it, closing her eyes.

“I’m not — I shouldn’t even be here.”

“When are you going to stop questioning everything, my love? You deserve so much of what this world has to offer. You just need to reach out and take it.” 

So, Lizzie does. She can’t quite believe herself, but she closes the distance between them, surging towards Penelope, capturing her lips in a kiss that tastes like her own tears and Penelope and warmth and comfort. It tastes and feels like coming home. Penelope’s lips are soft against hers, and it’s been only hours since the last time they kissed, but every minute away from Penelope, away from her lips had felt like an eternity. Penelope sighs into the kiss and Lizzie wants to tell her she loves her over and over and over, between kisses and during kisses, with her hands, her lips, her mouth. She pulls Penelope closer and they tumble back into the pillows, Penelope’s body pressing against hers. 

“So you’re in love with me?” Lizzie asks, her back against the bed as Penelope hovers over her. 

Penelope bends down to kiss her again, her mouth warm, nipping at Lizzie’s bottom lip. “About time you figured that out, Saltzman.” 

“I love you too, you know,” Lizzie exhales and it feels freeing, saying it out loud, saying it out loud to Penelope. 

“I know,” Penelope replies, the kind of smirk on her face that Lizzie really needs to kiss away. Right now. She tangles her hands in Penelope’s curls and pulls her closer. 

When they break apart, Penelope’s hands cup her jaw, before tracing over her face, brushing the traces of Lizzie’s tears away. 

Penelope then takes Lizzie’s hands in her own, placing them over her head as she stretches out on top of her, lips ghosting over Lizzie’s lips and cheeks. She releases Lizzie’s wrists with a look that commands Lizzie to obey and so the blonde just lays there as Penelope gets up, pulling at a zipper for the dress that she was wearing to fall to the floor to reveal a strapless bra and red lace panties. The bra drops to the floor as Penelope reaches behind her back and Lizzie unconsciously grinds into the bed at the sight. 

“Get your ass back here, Park,” Lizzie says, her voice low and husky. 

“I like how you think you’re in charge,” she replies slowly, dropping her panties before crawling up the length of the bed to settle on top of Lizzie, her knees on either side of Lizzie’s hips as she runs a hand through her hair. 

“Being in charge doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be all the way over there,” Lizzie decrees and Penelope laughs, leaning down towards her. Their chests rub together and Lizzie knows her nipples are hard already, anticipation and adrenaline and so much _want_ coursing through her veins. 

“I’m right here, darling,” Penelope’s mouth trails over her neck, switching between soft kisses and searing bites and sucking marks into Lizzie’s skin, and Lizzie finds herself shivering under the careful touches. Penelope’s hands slide up her ribcage, across her chest and down her stomach, tugging at the waistband of her panties. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she says, as Lizzie lifts her ass to help push her underwear down and off of her legs, watching her, and Lizzie feels utterly, utterly wrecked just from this, from Penelope watching her with so much love in her gaze. 

Free of clothing, of anything between them, Penelope kisses her again and it feels like magic, sparks of passion coursing through her veins making her dizzy as Penelope licks into her mouth and Lizzie runs her hands up and down Penelope’s back. It’s like a dam has broken, like everything that Lizzie had been holding back can now surge freely forward and she feels so, so much for this girl hovering above her. Penelope’s mouth is hot and wet over hers, and Lizzie can’t get enough of it. She tastes like the drinks they had earlier, like comfort and home and familiarity all wrapped into one.

Penelope’s hips are grinding into her as they kiss, their shared arousal warm and wet between them and had it really just been an hour ago that they were fighting in a parking lot? Lizzie’s hands are at Penelope’s waist and she can feel her clit rubbing against Penelope’s, their slick cores touching as they rub back and forth into each other. Lizzie gasps at the feeling and Penelope grabs her face with one hand, kisses down her cheek, grinding into her more fully, harder. 

Her hands roam down, sweeping over Lizzie’s collarbones, down the center of her sternum down farther until they reach at her breasts. Penelope cups, kneads, drags her fingers over the hardened tips of Lizzie’s nipples, and a soft noise catches in her throat at the feeling. She was aching already, each touch sending shudders of pleasure through her body and Penelope moves her lips down Lizzie’s neck. 

“I need you — fuck, I need you to touch me everywhere,” Lizzie breathes, her voice rising at the end as Penelope nips and bites down the column of her neck. She continues lower, covering one of Lizzie’s breasts with her mouth fully, licking at her nipple and biting it. She tugs it upwards and Lizzie arches her back into Penelope, biting her lower lip and letting out a string of courses. They make eye contact then and Penelope’s eyes are stuck on hers, dark and wild and Lizzie can’t help but exhale a loud sigh, but keeps her gaze focused. 

“Mmm,” Penelope moans, tongue laving over Lizzie’s breast in swirls, pausing her ministrations as she lays on Lizzie’s chest, “I was planning on it. We really need to work on your patience.”

“Penelope,” Lizzie exhales roughly, as Penelope turns to the other breast, sucking and biting just like she did on the first one. 

“I love it when you say my name like that,” Penelope tells her, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Lizzie’s ribcage, feeling one of Lizzie’s hands at the back of her head, trying to guide her lower. Lizzie knew it was a futile gesture — Penelope, it seemed, had every intention of taking her time, moving glacially along Lizzie’s stomach and across her navel, biting at her hip bones, even as Lizzie arched her back into her. “Relax, Lizzie. I’m gonna take care of you.”

The words, the careful tone of Penelope’s voice, her mouth still on Lizzie’s hips, it all sends another wave of want soaring heat straight through Lizzie. “I want you so badly,” Lizzie barely makes out and the look Penelope gives her is filled with equal parts sin and tender adoration. God, she's so gone for her. 

“Spread your legs, Lizzie.”

Lizzie feels her legs fall open, almost of their own accord under Penelope’s watchful gaze as she lays between them. She leaves kisses on the inside of Lizzie’s thighs, running her hands over them, and Lizzie’s seconds away from begging Penelope to finally fuck her. 

Penelope’s hands have moved further down, but they now slide up her legs, starting from her ankles toward her thighs and they’re still far, far away from where she needs them to be and moving so fucking slowly. Penelope’s lips follow her fingers and it feels like she’s everywhere. Lizzie’s eyes fall shut as she settles back into the pillows. Penelope takes her apart one kiss at a time and she feels like she’s soaking wet, hovering at a razor’s edge of sheer want and desire. She’s not sure how much time passes, minutes or seconds or anything in between, but she knows she’s absolutely wrecked by the time Penelope’s lips ghost over her clit. 

A guttural moan breaks through Lizzie’s lips at the feeling and the hand that wasn’t clutching at her own breast flies to Penelope’s head, cupping her cheek and gripping at the back. Penelope takes long licks through Lizzie’s center, tracing the line of her folds, moving upward to circle and suck on her clit, moaning into the feeling, the taste. She licks lower now, tonguing into Lizzie, feeling hot, slick heat and so much wetness and Lizzie’s breathing hitches, her hips canting forward and Penelope pushes her tongue in and out of Lizzie. 

“Oh my god yes, keep doing that,” cracks through Lizzie’s lips and Penelope moans in response, her nose brushing Lizzie’s clit with each movement. It doesn’t take long for Lizzie’s thighs to shake and quiver next to Penelope’s head, and she comes with a strangled moan. Penelope doesn’t let up, however, even as she can feel Lizzie’s body cresting and breaking like a wave crashing against the shore. She swirls her tongue around Lizzie’s clit, her grip on Lizzie’s thighs, tasting the orgasm and helping Lizzie come down from the high with gentle kisses on her inner thighs. She ghosts her fingers over Lizzie’s ass and the back of her thighs as she moves upwards, stretching languidly over the blonde, her dark hair framing Lizzie’s face. The blonde knows she looks thoroughly debauched as Penelope crawls up her, knees on either side of Lizzie’s waist. A hand is thrown over her eyes and her chest is still heaving and she reaches to pull Penelope into a searing kiss, tasting herself on Penelope’s lips. 

“Mmmm, that was —” Lizzie tries to say as Penelope bites and tugs on her top lip. 

“Exceptional,” the witch finishes for her, laying down on Lizzie as the blonde wraps her arm around Penelope’s neck. 

“I’ll show you exceptional,” Lizzie laughs, flipping them over so that she can straddle Penelope, a smirk on her lips. Penelope lay underneath her, head tilted to the side in a grin that was both serene and challenging and Lizzie — Lizzie feels her heart catch in her chest as her hand moves down Penelope’s sternum. 

“I love you,” she says softly, her index finger tracking down Penelope’s chest and across her ribcage. 

“Underneath you, waiting to be pleasured?” Penelope teases, but her voice is soft and warm as her hands settle on Lizzie’s hips. 

“In all forms, actually. But most definitely like this,” Lizzie responds, bending down to settle more comfortably on Penelope, a leg slotting between Penelope’s thighs as she kisses her throat, nipping and biting down the column of her neck, moving to suck along the gaps of her collarbones. Lizzie’s hands slide over Penelope’s breast as she moves lower and lower and lower. 

Lizzie glances up as she kisses across Penelope’s stomach and the witch is biting her lip, eyes on Lizzie and she can’t help but smile at Penelope, placing open-mouthed kisses along her navel and down her hips. She licks a line down the center of one of Penelope’s thighs, finishing with a bite to the inside of her thigh that she does on the opposite side as well. Her hands, which have been dancing across Penelope’s skin in concert with her tongue and teeth, scratch lines up and down Penelope’s legs and the brunette spreads her legs wide, her feet flat on the bed as Lizzie settles between her legs. 

Lizzie watches Penelope as she breathes on her clit, the warm air causing Penelope to arch her back, her breathing accelerating. Lizzie does it again, blowing softly on Penelope’s center and the witch bites her lip again, huffing out an exhale of frustration. Penelope’s wet, so wet for her and Lizzie marvels at the sight. 

“Lizzie — please,” she says, barely above a whisper, one hand fisting in the sheets and the other hovering near Lizzie’s head, ready to guide her mouth to where she needed it to be. They make eye contact again and Lizzie holds the look, watching Penelope’s mouth open slightly as she darts her tongue out, licking a long line up and down from her clit to her opening. She feels Penelope’s hips raise up and then sink into the feeling. Lizzie strokes two fingers along Penelope’s entrance, a moan escaping her lips as Penelope does the same and she feels Penelope clench underneath her as she plunges her fingers in and out. 

The sound is heavenly and slightly obscene but Lizzie revels in it — she’ll never get tired of the sounds, the smell, the feeling of Penelope falling apart underneath her and by her hands. Penelope gasps when Lizzie curls her fingers inside of her, thrusting deeply, and she rides Lizzie’s fingers, canting her hips backward and forward. Lizzie’s jaw aches, her mouth and chin soaked from Penelope but she licks and swirls her tongue side to side and up and down as Penelope’s breath pitches higher and higher. 

“I’m so close, babe — so so close,” she breathes, like a chant, and Lizzie can feel it, the moment that Penelope comes, her voice cracking on a word that sounded like _fuck._ Lizzie grips Penelope’s hip with her free hand, feels her fingers being pushed out of Penelope and she thrusts deeper and harder, helping her ride her orgasm out as she licks long lines up and down her center. When Lizzie finally stops, when Penelope tries to close her legs with Lizzie still between then, when she pulls her fingers out of Penelope with a small pop, she kisses a line back up Penelope’s stomach and chest, settling alongside her, nosing kisses to her jawline. 

Penelope’s pupils are still dilated as she turns on her side to face Lizzie, her chest rising and falling and Lizzie feels another rush of adoration for her so she kisses her, willing her lips to speak for her where words fail. Penelope flings her arms around Lizzie’s neck, wrapping a leg over her hip to pull her closer, dragging her lips to Lizzie’s ear and whispering huskily, “Gimme a minute to recover, because I need you ready for round two.”

* * *

Lizzie stumbles to the kitchen for a glass of water after her third orgasm, her thighs already sore and red marks dotting her neck and chest. Penelope joins her shortly after, arms circling around her waist as Lizzie leans over the counter. 

“You’re naked,” she remarks, kissing along Lizzie’s back. 

“Astute observation,” Lizzie says dryly, but Penelope just snatches the glass of water out of her hands before taking a sip. 

“You don’t really— you never said anything about having a date for the wedding,” Lizzie begins as she spins, eyes screwed up tight because as much as she wanted to have this conversation, she _really_ didn’t want to be having this conversation. 

“Are — are you jealous? After everything?” Penelope scoffs and Lizzie’s bites her lip, glancing down at her crossed arms over her chest. 

“You said —” 

“I was just kidding, babe. And it seemed like the time for a well-placed joke.” Penelope shrugs and Lizzie just stares at her. 

“So you’re —”

“Free as a bird, unless —” 

“What if I were to ask you?” Lizzie asks, the uncertainty breaking through her voice and she would be embarrassed, should be embarrassed, but part of her knew that Penelope would say yes, a smile crossing her lips. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t make her wait an agonizing few seconds, her eyes closed as if she was seriously considering it. 

“Well, we can’t have the maid of honor going dateless, I guess,” Penelope says with another shrug and an eye roll, stepping forward to back Lizzie up against her kitchen counter. “Yes, Lizzie, is my answer to your question. Now, are you going to reward me for my benevolence?” 

Lizzie spins their position and helps Penelope up on the counter, pushing up the shirt of her’s that Penelope had clearly stolen from her clean laundry pile to litter kisses along her thighs and toward her center. 

“I don’t know why you bothered with a shirt,” she breathes against Penelope’s thigh as Penelope helps her out, pulling it up and over her head. 

“I — you’re unexpected sometimes,” is all Penelope can say before she moans loudly. 

She eats Penelope out in her kitchen, moments after they had stumbled from her bedroom and honestly, Lizzie really wouldn’t have it any other way. Penelope gasps and arches into her mouth and Lizzie grabs at the backs of Penelope’s thighs, gripping her ass as Penelope’s nails scratch on the back of her head. She stands up straight then, plunging two fingers inside of Penelope and kisses her sloppily as she fucks her. Penelope leans back then and Lizzie grips her hip, spreading her legs wider to drive in deeper and Penelope jerks forward. She comes all over Lizzie’s hand, her head bowed against Lizzie’s shoulder, teeth marks lingering where she had stifled her moan against Lizzie’s skin.

“I love you,” Lizzie says over and over again, leaving featherlight kisses against the side of Penelope’s face, her temple, down her cheek. 

* * *

“We do actually have to be at that wedding in a couple of hours,” Penelope whispers, when they’re back in bed, Lizzie curled up in her arms. “Especially if you want your date to be conscious for the ceremony.”

“That’s Hope and Josie’s problem, not mine,” Lizzie shoots back, sighing into the feeling of Penelope’s arms around her back. 

They fall asleep like that, intertwined, and wake up to the sound of Lizzie’s phone ringing. 

“Yes,” she bites out. 

“I just wanted to make sure you don’t miss my wedding,” her sister says, obviously more than a little amused. 

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “We’ll be there.” She hangs up while Josie is still asking a myriad of questions, the predominant one being “we?!” repeated over and over. She’d have time later to corner Lizzie and demand answers, anyway. 

They do make it to the vineyard in time, but barely. Penelope’s sleepy smile had proved to be more distracting than Lizzie had anticipated and she might have tossed her phone away from the bed after hanging up, pulling Penelope by the hips closer to her. They still have an hour left before the ceremony, and Lizzie’s incredibly grateful that she insisted on a makeup artist. Josie’s having the time of her life, at least, entertaining Caroline and the makeup artist with a play-by-play of last night. 

Lizzie’s watching the hickies on her neck disappear and not so covertly texting Penelope, who’s apparently being interrogated by Freya, Keelin, and Hope in the next room. She can’t help the flurry of adoration that spreads through her chest at the sight of a heart emoji from Penelope Park. 

“It’s good to see you smiling so much,” her mom says, coming up behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve always been so guarded with your heart. But something about Penelope brings it out of you. How long has it been?” 

“Less than a day,” Lizzie sighs, barely able to hold back the smile that threatened to overtake her face. “But if you want to get technical, four years seems about right.” 

The wedding goes off without a hitch, which Lizzie knew it would. The food is excellent (Olivia really outdid herself) and the florist that Penelope had secured from the farmer’s market had made the vineyard look like a scene out of a fairytale. But all of that pales in comparison to the way that Penelope has been watching her all afternoon — first as they were walking down the aisle together, then as Josie and Hope read their vows to each other (Penelope’s eyes sparkled at times and Lizzie knew she really was going to have to give her shit for that later), and then during Lizzie’s speech when she reached up and grasped Lizzie’s hand while she was talking about commitment and happiness and all of the other words about love that she thought would never, ever fly out of her mouth. 

She didn't — girls like her, girls whose days were numbered and who were damaged — they didn’t have _this_. They didn’t have someone gazing at them with love written across their features and in their lips. 

But, Lizzie reminds herself, reminds herself again, she wasn’t that girl anymore. This wasn’t a dream. 

“You always did keep the nice things for yourself,” Penelope comments when Lizzie leads her away from the reception, toward a secluded area near the rows of grapes decorated with fairy lights and a wooden bench. They collapse onto it together, almost as if they were one body with two hearts beating in time with each other. 

“So I’ve been told,” Lizzie replies, pulling Penelope close to her. “Guess I’ll have to keep you to myself, too,” she whispers against Penelope’s lips, kissing her soundly. The lights around them flicker and grow brighter and Lizzie smiles into the kiss because she always knew that Penelope was magic but this feels like something else entirely. She feels her magic burst out of her in the form of more light, flowers shining on the ground at their feet and she finds herself breathing Penelope in again, siphoning just a bit from her before pulling her lip into her mouth to bite at. 

“You owe me a dance — a lot of dances, actually,” Penelope tells her as Lizzie’s lips make their way down her neck, brushing over the ridges of her throat. 

“Or I could take you home,” Lizzie suggests, her lips on Penelope’s collarbone. 

“Dancing first,” Penelope decrees, capturing Lizzie’s lips in a kiss with a tug at the back of Lizzie’s head to bring her back to eye level. “I’ve waited years to be able to show you off.” 

“You aren’t getting sentimental on me, are you? I saw the way your eyes — during the vows.” 

“I — a girl can be sentimental and want things. A girl can dream of a wedding with another girl by her side,” Penelope admits, smoothing her hands over Lizzie’s cheek. 

“Is this a dream for you now? You and me?” Lizzie asks, because she needs to hear it, she needs to know that this isn’t all just some beautiful scene packaged and perfect that could be ripped away in a moment. 

“Dreams of you don’t do the real thing justice, Elizabeth Saltzman,” Penelope says seriously and she smiles, tilting her head to the side as Lizzie kisses the palm of one of her hands. “If this is a dream, we probably would have been fucking a long time ago, anyway,” she adds. 

Lizzie laughs, she can’t help it. Tears fill her eyes as Penelope pulls her to her feet, her hands clasped in Lizzie’s. 

“Now, are you going to dance with me for an obligatory half an hour and then bail on this snoozefest of a wedding so we can go _home,_ my darling? I have a surprise for you,” Penelope teases, walking backward with an eyebrow raised. Lizzie knew that look. Lizzie loved that look. That look meant — so many things. All good. Usually involving a bed.

“Fifteen minutes,” she barters and Penelope’s laughter ripples through the air. 

“Twenty,” Penelope shoots back, grasping Lizzie’s hand in hers to pull the siphon forward. Lizzie's having trouble forming coherent thoughts, her mind already a whirlwind and her breath tight in her chest. Those six words sent shockwaves straight to her core. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Park,” she concedes and Penelope grins, spinning Lizzie as they make it to the dancefloor. “Tell me about the surprise.” 

“You’ll like it,” Penelope replies with a shrug, her arms slung around Lizzie’s neck, swaying with her. Hope and Josie wolf-whistle from near them and Lizzie ignores them, shaking her head. “No questions or clues,” Penelope adds. 

“Pretty please?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave, hands moving up Penelope’s back. Penelope runs her hands from Lizzie’s neck underneath her hair, scratching lightly. 

“I’m not as susceptible to bribes as you are,” the witch sighs, as if she was put out by Lizzie’s lack of imagination. Lizzie ducks her head to kiss Penelope’s cheek, her lips moving toward her ear, knowing the cartilage at the top of her right ear was a favorite spot of Penelope’s. “Cheater,” Penelope breathes, her voice low. “Fine, lace and leather are your two hints.” 

“What the fuck are we still doing here then?” Lizzie practically moans, pulling Penelope into her and grasping Penelope’s left hand, her own left hand at Penelope’s waist. 

“You’re dancing with your girlfriend so that when this happens for us, you won’t stumble around like the happy couple,” Penelope smiles sweetly but Lizzie looks over at Hope and Josie who have nearly tripped over each other twice in the last few seconds. They couldn’t care less though if their smiles are anything to go by. 

Lizzie spins Penelope outwards, before dipping her. Rather artfully, if she does say so herself. “I won’t.”

Penelope laughs, and the sound ignites a fire in Lizzie’s heart. “You talk a convincing game, Saltzman.” Penelope twirls her before bringing her close enough to kiss her. 

“I love you,” she whispers, and Lizzie smiles.

“I love you too,” she replies, and thinks that this, dancing with Penelope Park at her sister’s wedding, is the best kind of ending for her. “Now, let’s get out of here.”


	7. epilogue

"You know, you'd think it would be easier to do this after, I don't know, the tenth time you've dragged me up this fucking mountain," Lizzie breathes, huffing and puffing, trying to put one foot in front of the other. She glances over to Penelope who seems not to have even broken a sweat, her hands wrapped around the straps of the backpack she wore as they made their way up Old Rag.

"It’ll be worth it, I promise," Penelope replies, a smile in her voice even as she bites her lip, twisting the straps in her hands. The backpack is, of course, carrying water and protein bars and trail mix because, by mile five, Lizzie always started getting hangry. But it also carried a very small box with a very large diamond ring. And everything had been planned down to the second and if Lizzie didn't stop dragging ass and complaining for all of Shenandoah to hear, they were going to miss the moment.

“The things I do for love,” Lizzie grumbles to herself and even after two years, well, six if you counted the in-between years before Lizzie had finally realized everything that Penelope was trying to convey with her hands, lips, and actions (never words though — Penelope struggled with those when they meant the most), Penelope feels her heart skip a beat. 

“I’ll reward you later,” she teases, which does the job of perking Lizzie up for the last part of the trail to the summit. They make it to the top with a few more curses and Lizzie reaches to grab Penelope by the waist, clinging to her as they look out at the trees and the valley below them. 

“Why this hike?” Lizzie asks, gaze still scanning the horizon. "The view hasn't changed." Penelope leans into her and then pulls away, taking one strap off of her arm to pull the backpack around, reaching into one of the smaller pockets. She smoothes down a few flyaway strands of hair that had snuck out of her ponytail, glancing to her right to see the tiny drone hovering just over the side of the mountain. Luckily, Lizzie was still looking the other way. 

“Because even though you complain every damn time, you still do it with me with no questions asked. A lot of complaining, but no questions asked,” Penelope finally says as she kneels. Lizzie turns to her then and a hand goes to her mouth before she puts both hands on her waist. 

“You’re not serious,” she says, laughing softly. Penelope thinks she sees tears in Lizzie’s eyes and she knows she feels them in her own, but she swallows and holds up the box with the ring in it. 

“Dead serious, babe. Elizabeth Saltzman, I never saw you coming and I'd like to think that fate somehow played a hand in everything that happened with us. You’re my best friend and the love of my life and there are so many ways in which you challenge me every single day,” Penelope pauses, taking a deep breath. “I know I drive you crazy and I drag you up mountains, kicking and screaming, but there is no one else I would rather share this life with. We’ve seen dark things and absolutely magical things, but nothing compared to the first time I saw you — really saw you, Lizzie — and absolutely nothing will ever compare to the feeling that I get when I’m around you. I can’t give you anything that you don’t already have, but I promise you, if you let me, I’ll stand by your side every single day and support you in all that you do with all of the love that I have in me. Will you marry me?” 

“Get off of the ground, Penelope,” Lizzie begins with an eye roll, but her chest is heaving and her eyes are sparkling in the sunlight and Penelope thinks she has never looked more gorgeous. M.G. better be getting all of her angles with the drone. Her payments in comic books are hopefully sufficient enough for him to do a decent job. 

“I need an answer,” Penelope says, not moving, her hands falling slightly as they hold the ring box out in front of her.

Lizzie shakes her head, her eyes still glittering, and drops her backpack to the ground. “You’re really going to make me kneel in the dirt to kiss you?” she questions, but a second later, she’s already on the ground in front of Penelope, pulling her into a slow kiss. 

“That’s still not an answer, Elizabeth,” Penelope points out when they break apart. 

Lizzie laughs. “Yes,” she says, “absolutely, always, yes.” The ring box almost falls to the ground, because Lizzie is far, far too distracting, but she catches herself just in time, taking the ring out and holding it out towards Lizzie. “Can I?”

Lizzie’s smile is brilliant, beautiful, and Penelope could spend the rest of her life watching her. At this rate, she might get to, and that thought alone makes her heart beat faster. She slips the ring into Lizzie’s finger, and thinks that her eyes still glitter more beautifully than any diamond ever could. Thank god it fits or else she was going to strangle the jeweler. Lizzie hears a cheer from behind her and turns to see M.G. with a massive controller in his hands, fist-pumping into the air.

“You just want to plan another wedding,” Lizzie teases, pulling Penelope to her feet. Penelope sinks into the feeling, wrapping her arms around her and kissing Lizzie’s cheek and every other part of her face, elation in her chest and her cheeks spread wide in a smile. 

“You caught me,” Penelope jokes, her forehead against Lizzie’s. “Think we can outdo ourselves for a second time?”

“I love a challenge,” Lizzie says, and god, Penelope absolutely can’t stop smiling. “But I get the final say on everything, because you made me climb up a mountain for this.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Park. Think Olivia wants to do a repeat?” 

“I’m sure we can call her and ask her.” 

“Come here,” Lizzie says, pulling Penelope by the backpack to her waiting lips. “We’re staying up here for a while.” 

Penelope laughs again, her heart soaring as her lips meet Lizzie’s, the sun shining bright around them.

**Author's Note:**

> pizzie nation, how we feeling?


End file.
